


The Prince and The Lute Player

by merrimacmines



Series: Tales from Cordesia [1]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ambiguous location, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Romance, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Big Gay Love Story, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Class Differences, Come Swallowing, Declarations Of Love, Drama & Romance, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fictional Kingdoms, First Love, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, French Kissing, Frottage, Gay, Gay Character, Gay Male Character, Gay Romance, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Homoeroticism, Homoromantic, Hot Sex, Kings & Queens, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Love, Love Confessions, Lust, Lute player, M/M, Making Love, Making Out, Male Homosexuality, Masturbation, Medieval Music, Middle Ages, Musical Instruments, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Nobility, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, POV Third Person Limited, Period Gay Romance, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Princes & Princesses, Renaissance Era, Romance, Royalty, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Semi-smutty, Sex, Sibling Rivalry, Simultaneous Orgasm, Slight Age Difference, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, True Love, ambiguous time period, anywhere from 1200 - 1500, hot with a plot, m/m romance, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 69,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25926172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrimacmines/pseuds/merrimacmines
Summary: Prince Derian is the sole heir to the throne of Cordesia. After a strict and lonely childhood, he has reached the age of marriage. When his father, the King, insists he take lute lessons to impress a foreign Princess, Derian finds himself falling deeply in love with his instructor. Can he uphold his duty to his crown and country and love who he wishes at the same time?Mark Wolcott came from humble beginnings, but was a prodigy lute player as a child. While playing at the Cordesian Palace, Mark gets the opportunity of a lifetime - a royal appointment teaching the Prince the lute. But Mark is deeply attracted to his royal pupil and is quickly falling in love. Will he be able to continue to provide for his family, play his music, and keep his royal lover?Find out the answer to these questions and more!__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Slow Build M/M Romance | Period Gay Romance | Explicit Sexual Content | Long read ~4 - 5 hours beginning to end---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Thank you for reading!
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Tales from Cordesia [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136735
Comments: 38
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

Derian, Prince of Cordesia, lay wide awake in his bed.

He did not bother to turn his head towards the stone window for he was certain he would see the lightening sky. _It must be close to sunup,_ he thought. _How long have I lain here? And must I endure this day, cruel fate!_

Derian had gone to bed a boy, and he would emerge from his rooms in a few hours a man. It was a rite of passage all Princes of Cordesia must undertake on their twentieth birthdays: The Presenting. In just a few hours, Derian would be dressed in his finest robes, he would wear his gilded crown, and he would carry the precious jewels of Cordesia - a gift given to the kingdom by the Ambassador from Rosebourgh nearly one hundred years ago - through the city gates to the Cordesian Palace. They would decorate his horse with roses and hyacinth, draping a silken cloth over the back of the beast for Derian to sit upon. And then Derian would ride through the winding streets of the city, accompanied by a royal retinue consisting of Guard, Clergy, and the Mayor himself.

_There will be a crowd,_ Derian worried. People running to kneel at Derian’s feet, waving their caps, and young ladies tossing roses and lilacs from the windows in a rain shower of color. And then Derian would arrive at the Palace, he would process inside with his retinue, and Derian would kneel before his father, the King, offering the jewels in a mime of supplication. In turn, his father would take the jewels then point to the empty throne on his left side, inviting Derian to rise, turn to his subjects kneeling before him, and take the throne beside his father for the very first time, symbolically and literally denoting who would reign after the King.

_It will be official,_ Derian turned on his left side and then on his right. _I am the heir. The sole, undisputed heir._

The traditions had been passed down again and again through the bloodlines of the ancient kings who first came to Cordesia. They came down from the cold northern territories to seek her healing waters and warm, sunny hillsides. Derian could scarcely believe he would be participating in such a sacred and ancient rite himself.

But it was his birthright. His duty.

He was the only son. The only boy.

And, one day, he would be the King of Cordesia.

Derian squeezed his eyes shut.

_And I do not wish to be King!_

* * *

“Might you bend down a bit, Your Highness,” the dresser said. “So I can unclasp the cape.”

Derian bent his knees so the short man could reach around Derian’s shoulders. “It is quite heavy.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the dresser agreed, releasing the thick clasp and lifting the heavy fabric from Derian’s shoulders. “There now. Might that be better, Your Highness?”

“It is, thank you,” Derian replied, straightening his knees and feeling a literal weight lifted off of him. The Presenting had gone smoothly. Derian had taken his seat to the left of his father, with the Queen on his father’s right hand, and received his subjects, mostly nobility coming to kiss his hand and size him up. For many of them, and certainly for the common people, it was the first time anyone had laid eyes upon the Prince of Cordesia.

“My, my,” called a voice out in the corridor. “Where might the Golden Prince be? Is he in here?” There was a step-step. “Or in here?” _Step-step._ “Or in -?”

“Come now, dear sister,” Derian called. “I am in here.”

Princess Naeveen poked her head around the door. “There! Oh, Your Highness!” She bowed so exaggeratedly low, she nearly banged her nose against the rugs.

“Enough,” Derian said, grinning. “Enough of such. Nothing has changed for me yet, sister. It was only a ceremony.”

Naeveen rose to her feet and giggled, running over to him to give him a hug. “I am proud of you this day, my little brother! What a man you have become!”

“Why do you say ‘little’ when you look up so at me?”

“You will always be my little Derry!” Naeveen laughed, reaching up to ruffle his hair, which he quickly stopped. He’d spent so much time with his menservants that morning getting his auburn curls to lay just right after such a restless night.

He laughed. “Enough, now.” He lay his hands on his sister’s shoulders and was struck with how much they’d both grown. Naeveen was three years his elder, golden haired, blue-eyed, and pink cheeked since the day she was born - but she was very petite. Nearly a foot shorter than him. She reminded him of a wheat field under a clear blue sky.

_And they call_ me _the Golden Prince._

It was an epithet Derian was given on the day of his Christening. The Queen Dowager had carried him as a baby to the cathedral wrapped in cloth-of-gold. But Derian being merely an infant had been unable to control himself bodily and pissed all over the priest as he was being blessed. Hence, he became the _Golden Prince._ Derian always winced when he heard it, even though everyone always told him it was in reference to the cloth he wore, but Derian knew the truth.

Where Naeveen was light and airy, Derian was dark and earthy. His auburn hair and deep brown eyes were a contrast to his sister. And his pale coloring was from being shut indoors for most of his life. He thought irritably the nobles who’d kissed his hand just one hour ago were perhaps whispering amongst one another that Derian might be unwell. The blasted Lords who’d witnessed his embarrassing Christening, no doubt. They loved to whisper and speculate, Derian had heard. Some of them had even believed the Prince of Cordesia had never even existed; that Derian was a lie told by the King to keep his Lords in check.

“Oh my. What a portrait of sibling togetherness this is,” came a cloyingly sweet voice from the doorway.

Derian and Naeveen turned to see their sister, Navelle, fanning herself with a large-petaled lily.

“How sweet,” Navelle continued, sashaying over to the window that overlooked the Palace gardens. “Wonder why I wasn’t invited?”

Naeveen pursed her lips and turned to Derian. “I am proud of you, truly, dear brother. I know you will make a good and honorable King one day, such as Cordesia has never seen.” She got up on her tip-toes to kiss Derian’s cheek, turned to scowl at the back of Navelle’s reddish blond head, and took her leave.

Navelle turned her head of long, braided waves after Naeveen had gone and said, “Pity she couldn’t stay.”

It was Derian’s turn to scowl. Navelle was younger than Naeveen, but one year older than him. She was the second-born daughter to an aging King and sickly Queen. No better than a first-born daughter but somehow much worse. And Navelle knew it.

“I don’t wish to argue with you this day,” Derian said coldly. “Nor anyone. Especially not today.”

Navelle opened her mouth for a retort, but she was interrupted.

“Ah! My son! My Prince!”

Derian turned to the door to see his father there, King Lucius IV, leaning upon his cane, his thick middle bulging from his doublet. He grew his gray beard long and bushy to cover his thick neck and sagging chin, and under the gold crown - set with emeralds, rubies, and sapphires - the King was as bald as an arse cheek.

King Lucius smiled broadly. “How liked you the look of the fair city, my boy? Was the journey to your liking?”

Despite the height Derian had gained on his father in the past few years, and Derian’s broad shoulders, he looked down like he did as if he were a child, making sure to keep his head bowed in deference. “The journey was satisfactory, father. The city friendly and the people most joyful.”

Derian had not the privilege to be raised with his sisters or his parents. After two girls, his mother and father had been praying night and day for a boy and blaming one another for the lack thereof. When long last Derian was born, he was bundled up and swept away after his Christening to his own household in the southern countryside. There he was raised by a series of nursemaids, tutors, and his future step-mother. His household had been controlled and strict and everyone was instructed to never let the Prince out of their sight or out of doors for too long. And in spite of the way Derian thrived and grew, he was treated as fragile and weak. He’d longed to go play like the other children, to run as far as he wanted and as fast as he wanted, and, most of all, for someone to come near him without being afraid to touch him.

_It was as if I were poison,_ Derian thought sadly.

“But, of course!” The King exclaimed, coming into the room. “My people have always loved a spectacle.” Everyone within, servants included, made sure to not look at the King’s cane. It was like acknowledging his weakness. On the King’s right arm, leaned the Queen, her belly round under her dress, but for far different reasons.

Derian went to his step-mother and kissed her cheek. “It is good to see you. I hope you are well today.”

Queen Albiona smiled half-heartedly at Derian. “As good as I can be, I suppose.” She rubbed her belly and frowned. Then she patted Derian’s arm. “And you have my heartfelt congratulations.”

Before Derian could thank her, she muttered a complaint about her aching feet to her husband, and went directly for a chair one of her maids pushed across the rugs for her to sit in. She fanned her face with her hand and smiled mildly at Navelle, who gave Albiona a curt nod and turned back to the window.

Queen Albiona was the third wife of their father - and twenty years his junior. The first, Queen Enide of the Omans Empire, had died of sickness shortly after being wed to their father. The second, the mother of Derian and his sisters, Queen Vivianne of Kleece, had come to Cordesia a young maid of fifteen. Derian had seen her portrait on a rare visit to the Palace as a child. She’d been auburn-haired like him, her eyes a cool brown like his, and people liked to talk about how she rode through the countryside with her lovely hair unbound and his father, younger and thinner, riding right beside her. The common people liked to reminisce at what a match Vivianne and Lucius had been and how they’d rejoiced when the Palace announced Derian’s birth.

And how they’d mourned when the Palace announced his mother’s death.

“You should go to our rooms and get some rest,” the King said to Derian, coming closer and leaning sharply on his cane. He looked Derian up and down as if he might find something displeasing. “Tonight we dine at the banquet, and I have invited some guests.”

Derian wanted to cringe and run from the Palace that instant. He knew precisely what guests were invited and what purpose they would serve. “Indeed, father. I look forward to meeting them.”

Navelle glanced over at them, her eyes narrowing, and Derian did his best to avoid looking at her directly. She was angry, envious, and he knew precisely why. Aside from all the attention, power, and praise Derian received, Derian was also expected to choose his bride before his sisters could marry. Their father had some foreign Dukes and Princes in mind for Naeveen, but Navelle would have to settle for a simple country squire. Things would have been quite different for her had Derian not been born and Derian knew it.

Derian chatted with his father a while longer, letting most of the conversation slip in one ear and out the other. Lucius talked a bit with a hostile Navelle and soon offered his free arm to Albiona as they exited the room. On her way out, Navelle paused by Derian as he stood as still as he could while his dresser carefully removed the heavy gold cuffs and unlaced the tall leather boots.

“Did you pray this morning, dear brother?” Navelle said slyly.

“I pray every morning,” Derian frowned. “What of it?”

Navelle looked after Albiona as she walked down the corridor beside their father. “Then did you pray the baby would be well? For the soothsayers say it will be another boy.”

Derian glared at her.

“And all this,” Navelle waved her hand around them, “you will have to share with him. What if our good Queen Step-Mother does not wish her son to share a thing?”

Derian had nothing to say. He was surprised, and yet not, by the malice in Navelle’s voice. She sashayed out of the room just as she came in, humming along the corridor a merry tune.

* * *

The Great Hall was lit with wall sconces that smoked and hazed all along the tall paneled walls.

Derian let his gaze follow the smoke as it rose to the high ceiling. He would get lost in his gaze and forget he was pretending to listen to the conversation all around him; his father laughing and joking with Lords and Dignitaries from all over the kingdom. Derian could sense the Lords were testing his intellect by the wording of their questions. One good thing about being shut indoors constantly was that Derian had been a voracious learner. He’d mastered three languages before he was fifteen and had read every book in his household’s vast library. So, the Lords could question Derian all they liked. Derian was more than prepared.

As servants passed between the tables to place full flagons of wine, the King’s Caller announced from the far end of the hall the entering ladies. A hush fell over the crowd as one by one, each lady entered and made her way over to Derian. He sat up straighter and tried his best to look interested. But he was not interested. He knew deep within his heart of hearts he would never love or even like any of these ladies.

Derian wore his crown, which was an abridged version of his father’s, and it dipped slightly askew on his head as he stood to receive the young women. It was as if the crown knew that the head on which it sat was not worthy nor steady enough to bear its weight. Derian nodded his greeting to each lady in turn as she curtsied before him, his father, and the Queen. All the ladies were veiled, as was tradition, to cloud their virgin faces before a potential royal husband. First, veiled in black with a trim of pearls, was Princess Fayanna from the Omans Empire. Then came Princess Hollyhark of Devonia, veiled in crimson with rubies dripping blood-red from her headdress. Third was Princess Lourdes from the Moviene Islands, her veil a stunning azure with diamonds and onyx gems set within the fabric. Lastly, Derian bowed his head to Princess Matilde of Rosebourgh, her veil a pure white, nearly see-through, but for the golden threads woven through and cloth-of-gold and silver braided around the trim.

Derian looked at each girl in turn, as he was supposed to do, knowing full well that whichever one took her place directly in front of him, that girl was his father’s top choice. Behind them he could see Naeveen and Navelle seated at their own table. Naeveen smiled sweetly and gave Derian a reassuring nod. Navelle frowned, her eyes roving over the ladies and their clothing, a spark of jealousy in her blue eyes.

Derian was aware of all the gazes on him, expectant and curious. Derian waved a hand over the four seats in front of himself, the King, and the Queen, and the ladies moved to sit. Derian watched as Princess Matilde glided over as graceful as a swan and seated herself directly in front of him.

He gave her a tight smile as he sat back down. _So,_ he thought, _she is the one I must choose._ Derian shifted his eyes to his father, who grinned triumphantly and raised a glass to the young ladies but his smile was pointed at Matilde. Derian swallowed a nervous jolt as the dining began. Platters of food came into the hall, carried by scullions and servants, and the musicians in the gallery above began a lively tune. Derian looked a Matilde more closely. Through the veil he could see she had a lovely shape to her face, shining eyes, and thick hair the color of cloves, braided intricately over her shoulders. She smiled at Derian, tilting her head coyly, inviting.

“Good evening, Princess,” Derian said, recalling the etiquette lessons he’d had growing up. “How like you the Palace of Cordesia? I hope your journey was not long.”

“No, Your Highness,” she replied in a soft voice. “My journey was short and pleasant. And I love the Cordesian Palace. My father has modeled our own Palace after the architecture here.” She looked around the high ceilings to a skylight directly above them. “It is classic and beautiful, yet also practical.”

“Indeed, Princess,” King Lucius piped in, holding high his goblet of wine. “Cordesian kings have often strove to find a balance between beauty and practicality. It is the mark of our lineage, eh son?” He glanced at Derian.

Derian nodded slowly. “Indeed father.”

The King continued to speak to Matilde and the Queen soon joined and Derian let their words waft upwards in the smoke of the sconces towards the high ceiling. Derian recalled, as he looked up into the gallery, that King Lucius II had built the Great Hall after it was burned down by an invading army from the Exian Principalities. King Lucius II had been brilliant in his design, assuring the lighting would reflect off the high ceilings and paneling, giving a cozy glow to anyone seated below and that the arch of the skylight would provide ample brightness on sunny days. He’d also ensured that the shape and wideness of the walls and ceiling would draw smoke from torches and candles upwards and away from the dining guests.

As Derian’s eyes languidly moved from the skylight to the musicians in the gallery, he thought, wretchedly, of running away. He often thought of it and was thinking of it right then. He’d been born into a long line of great kings, a legacy he would have to live up to and honor for the rest of his life. How he longed to leave this Great Hall this very instant and go to a land where no one knew him, where he could be who he wished and do as he wanted. There would be no expectation of taking a bride, no pressure to do so quickly so his sisters could marry, and no critical eye from his father. He longed for it so, to get up from this table and the fine food and pretty ladies so much he was practically pained to tears.

Just then, he spied a young man in the gallery standing and moving to a seat in front of the conductor. The young man held a lute, but Derian hardly noticed that. He noticed the young man’s deep umber hair that hung over his forehead in a careless swoop. He noticed the young man’s eyes were a piercing jade under heavy brows. And Derian especially noticed the young man smiling brightly at the conductor as he began to play a song, the soft notes echoing in the chambers above and down into the Great Hall.

As the young man closed his eyes and played his lute, Derian’s eyes widened and the notes of the young man’s song went straight through Derian’s flesh into Derian’s heart.


	2. Chapter 2

Mark Wolcott, son of an immigrant sheep farmer, was honored and humbled.

Never in his life had he imagined being inside the Cordesian Palace. Never in his life had he imagined playing before the King and Queen of Cordesia. And never in his life had he imagined he would ever see the Prince of Cordesia in the flesh.

“Please write to us and tell us what he looks like,” Mark’s mother had said, wrapping a loaf of bread in cloth for Mark to take on his journey to the city.

“Yes,” his younger brother, Petrus, chimed in. “Tell us if the rumors are true and what of his hunchback.”

“The Prince does not have a hunchback,” Mark admonished. “If that were true, then the King would never allow him to be seen for The Presenting.”

Mark’s little sister Aimee came to him and wrapped her arms around his leg. The top of her head only came to his hip. “Don’t forget about us, Mark!” She exclaimed, her deep-set eyes wide and wistful. “And please write to us. Mother can read it, can’t you mamma?”

“Yes, please, please! Read it to us mamma!” All five of Mark’s brothers and sisters chorused as they gathered around him and his mother. They were all younger, the youngest being Abener, who was only three - and they were all depending on Mark. Mark felt the familiar swell of familial pride and duty fill his heart. All his life he’d felt protective of his siblings. He was the oldest of a brood of six and since the death of their father, he was the one they all relied upon to keep them from losing their home and to put bread upon their table. Mark took great pride in being the provider.

And now, attending the banquet for the Prince and playing for a Cordesian audience, he would be providing for them all handsomely. All royal musicians were lavishly paid by the Queen who had a deep love for music. She’d sang in the Great Hall herself for the former Queen as a child of only twelve.

“I promise you all that I will write,” Mark had said. “As soon as I get into the city.”

And then Mark set off with hugs and kisses, and a promise to his mother that he would be careful and safe.

Mark’s journey from his family’s farm took two days by horse. A neighbor in the village had lent the horse to Mark. His family had to sell their last one to purchase medicines for sickly Nevill, who had been born with a weakened heart. As Mark rode along, he was still in disbelief over his luck. He couldn’t believe he’d be playing before the Cordesian royals. What luck! What a rare opportunity! He’d never dreamed - but certainly hoped! - that his talent would get him this far.

He’d first picked up the lute as a child of five and soon taught himself by humming hymns and matching sounds by plucking the strings. Soon, Mark was composing his own verse and his father had sold half his flock of sheep to pay for Mark to attend a prestigious music school in the western part of the kingdom. Mark was a prodigy and by age eleven playing for the Duchy and some of his songs were being sung in banquets, balls, and masques all over the kingdom. When he was thirteen, the King of the Moviene Islands - his family’s native country - had heard of the boy wonder, and requested Mark come play for him at court. King Fabian was so impressed, he asked Mark to remain in his court as an official musician. And Mark did so for the next two years, sending any gifts or coins he could to his family back home. He knew his father’s health was poor and little Abener had just been born. His sister Sabina had written to him, in a shaking scrawl, that the pregnancy and birth had been difficult for their mother.

But the sad day came, when Mark received from home the worst news of all: his loving father had died. Mark left the Moviene Islands by boat with a token of goodwill from King Fabian and his position at court removed so he could go home and mourn with his family. Mark was so deeply saddened by his father’s sudden death and the sacrifices his dear father had made, that he did not touch his lute for an entire year. It was Petrus that finally brought Mark the lute and asked him to play them all a merry tune to move past their sadness. And just like that, Mark was playing once again.

It was then, more than ever, that Mark needed to keep playing. With so many mouths to feed and his poor mother having to look after the flocks, it was up to Mark to provide for his family. He worked the fields with his mother by day and composed verse by night. He sent his music to all the great households of the kingdom, hoping for a request. Then a message came from the Duke of Moonside, requesting _Young Mark Wolcott, the Wondrous Lute Player_ to attend upon _His Grace, the Duke of Moonside_ as he traveled to the Count of Hawklund’s estate for a holiday ball. At first, Mark refused. What of the sheep, he’d said. And what of the washing of the linens and harvesting of the gardens and mending of the roof? But his mother and siblings insisted and Mark was off with the Duke, whom seemed surprised that Mark was not as young as he’d expected. By then, Mark was seventeen and showing it in his stride and build.

And it was also then, when Mark accompanied the Duke and his household to the Count’s, singing and playing his own songs, that Mark first felt the touch of another man.

Mark knew since attending the music school that he preferred boys. It did not frighten him. It did not shock him. He merely accepted it was so but knew full well that he should be careful and to keep it a secret. At the Court of King Fabian, Mark had watched the handsome sons of great nobles with desire, longing to go to one and fall into his arms. He was careful not to let his gaze linger, mindful to appear bashful and tongue-tied around young ladies, and certain to never, ever let any of those young men catch Mark looking.

But one of them did.

The Duke of Moonside had a whole gaggle of musicians in his retinue, including a singer with a smooth baritone voice, ebony hair, and eyes the color of high tide. Mark found his gaze running all over the young man’s form as they traveled. From his long, lustrous hair that he kept pushing behind his ears, to his tall, lanky form and to his jawline, so cut and smooth that Mark was dying to pepper it with his kisses. The singer had a way of bending his head down and looking up in front of him as he sang, his strong neck stretching to hold out a crescendo and a deep rumble in his chest as he hit the low notes. During the duration of the holiday parties, Mark pleasured himself every night thinking of that singer. Of running his fingers through the young man’s hair, kissing down his lovely neck, removing his doublet…covering his mouth with his own…

Until the night came that Mark found himself alone in the gallery after all the other musicians had departed. Marked looked down to get a glimpse of the Lords and Ladies drinking and talking, but the smoke from the torches obstructed his view. He turned to go when he saw the singer on the opposite side of the gallery, looking down as well. Mark gasped quietly to himself and took the opportunity to look over the singer, etching in his memory some features Mark might use that night when he was alone. Mark’s eyes were roaming over the singer’s breeches - imagining what could be underneath - when he reached the singer’s face and saw the singer was looking right at him.

Mark blinked and took a step back.

The singer gave Mark a slow smile, but Mark was so flustered he quickly left the gallery and went to his room. Later that night there was a knock and Mark found the singer standing at his door. Before Mark could say a word, the young man leaned through the door and kissed Mark on his lips. Mark was shocked, confused, then pleased. He eagerly kissed the young man back and pulled him into his room. That night the young singer taught Mark how to please another man. He taught Mark how to please him with his mouth, with his hands, and even with his own cock. Mark reveled in the feel of another man’s sweat upon his skin, of his own spendings sticky in the hair of the singer’s chest, and the hard firmness of the young man’s body, sure and strong, as he held Mark in his arms. Mark had never known such pleasure, such ecstasy, and sadly he never saw the young baritone ever again.

As Mark rode to the Palace, he wondered if the young man might be summoned as well. It was quite an event but more than a year had passed. Mark was sure the singer had gone to another court and, besides, he was going to entertain the Prince.

The thought of that, the thought of laying eyes on such a mysterious figure, spurred Mark happily onward to the Cordesian Palace.

* * *

Mark was seated in the gallery above the Great Hall.

On one side of him the dulcian player was wetting his reed while the cornett player on his other side complained of the seating arrangement. Mark was also puzzled as to why the wind instruments were separated, but the great court musician of the Cordesian Palace - Lysley Summerton - was the greatest in the land, and as far as Mark was concerned, the greatest in any land. Mark had learned the lute playing Lysley’s hymns and learned his style of tablature in school. Lysley was practically as famous as the Prince, and Mark was proud to play in his band of musicians no matter where he sat.

As Mark tuned the strings of this lute, he tried to peer down into the Great Hall. A clear view was difficult for the smoking sconces, but he could see the myriad of nobles, Lords, and elegant ladies entering after being introduced by the King’s Caller. After a time, trumpeters lined the doorway to the Great Hall and Lysley told the musicians to stand. The King’s Caller announced the Prince and Mark leaned over the gallery banister to peer though the smoke.

The Prince was tall and noble with a gold crown set with gems upon his head. He was broad-chested and strode confidently through the Great Hall to the royal table. Mark smiled. He was seeing the Prince! And what a handsome Prince he was! Mark could see glints of red in the Prince’s hair in the torch light as he was seated. Mark hardly paid mind to the entrance of the King and Queen as he gazed down at their son.

For it was true, after all: Cordesia had a Prince.

Mark had first heard the rumors as a child. At school Mark heard that the Prince was merely a fable the King and Queen made up to keep their people calm and prevent any foreigners from invading. If everyone knew the lineage was strong, then Cordesia was secure. Like anyone, Mark had wondered if the Prince were real or a deception from the Palace, for no one had ever seen him. Those that worked within the Prince’s household claimed the boy was real and then the rumors started about how the Prince might be deformed and that’s why he was hidden. Some said he was of small stature, like a midget. Others said he was blind, and others said he was hunchbacked and could not leave his bed.

But it was clear as day - at least through the smoky air and from this distance - that the Prince was not deformed. Mark smiled again. He was handsome and noble. A Prince the people of Cordesia could be proud of.

After the ladies were seated and the dinner began, Lysley stood in front of the musicians and singers - four tenors - and counted out the rhythm as they played their first piece, “O Ye Merry Days Doth Pass,” which Lysley had written nearly a decade ago and Mark had quickly transcribed into tablature for his lute.

Mark smiled as he played, although no one from below looked up at them. They were too busy eyeing the Prince with his four potential brides. Mark could not blame them, for if he were not playing, he would be watching them as well. When Mark’s solo came during the fourth verse, he closed his eyes and got lost in the music, hoping the King and Queen would hear him and ask him to come to court. To serve in the Cordesian Court would mean plenty of money to send to his family. Petrus may be able to finish his schooling and Sabina could improve her letters.

Mark thought of all the good the money could do as they played through their repertoire. Nevill’s health, his mother’s health, and schooling for Aimee and Abener. He’d written them all a quick letter as soon as he’d arrived that morning and sent it by messenger to the village, assuring them he’d arrived safely. Tonight, Mark would send them another letter to tell them of seeing the Prince and he knew they would want him to describe the banquet in detail. Mark stared down at the royal family as they dined, and drank, and talked.

He set his jaw. He must be noticed.

And that was when Mark asked Lysley if he might play one of his own songs so the other musicians could have some wine and a brief rest. Lysley agreed and Mark knew just the song: “In April Blooms the Sweetest Rose.” Mark had written the song shortly after his tryst with the young singer. The notes captured the headiness of being with a man for the first time, but the verses expressed his melancholy at never seeing his lover again. He was clever to disguise about whom precisely he sang of, but Mark was proud of the song and was eager to show his talent and skill to the royal household.

After moving seats and tuning his lute to the proper key, Mark began to play, the soft notes of his lute filling the smoky air of the Great Hall. Then with a slightly shaking voice he began to sing the verses. Mark was not an accomplished singer as he was a lute player, but his voice was a decent tenor and he let it sail up to the high ceilings and down to the guests below. Mark closed his eyes and sang through two verses when he noticed there was no noise at all save for his lute and his own singing. When he opened his eyes to gaze down from the gallery he was shocked to see everyone - including the royal family - looking up at him. Mark’s gaze roved over the Princesses to their brother, who looked up at Mark with rapt attention. Pleased and encouraged, Mark stared back and sang the final verses as if singing them to the Prince alone. Certainly if His Highness enjoyed Mark’s music, he might ask Mark to come to his household with his new bride.

But as Mark sang his melancholy song high above the Great Hall, looking into the face of the Prince far below, a strange stirring happened inside him. Perhaps it was the way the Prince looked at him, or perhaps it was the way the notes of the song wafted through the open space, Mark could not be sure, but he felt a strange pull, almost magnetic, towards the Prince. And Mark felt exposed. Almost as if the Prince were gazing right into Mark’s very soul.

When the last notes of the song faded away, there were a few moments of silence, then the applause began. Mark blushed with pride and at the intensity of the moment that had just occurred. His head was whirling with emotions. He stood to take a bow, particularly towards his royal audience. Both Princesses smiled and blew him a kiss and when Mark turned to the Prince he was very much surprised to see the Prince was gone.

* * *

Mark huddled under the covers in the small bed.

He shared a room with the dulcian player in the servant’s part of the Palace, and the rooms were dark and damp as most servant’s quarters were. Mark recalled his room in King Fabian’s Palace had been far more grand as the King had requested Mark to be roomed near his chambers to be called upon at a moment’s notice. But here, as a guest musician, Mark was to make do with what he got. And he should not complain. He was here, right here, living and breathing inside the Cordesian Palace at last.

Mark held the single candle to the parchment he was writing on. He’d placed a music book underneath for a hard surface and scribbled out any detail he could think of about the evening, particularly that the Prince was indeed _not_ a hunchback. When Mark was almost finished there was a knock at the door. The dulcian player turned over in his bed, clearly unwilling to answer it even though he was closest to the door. Impatiently, Mark got out of his warm bed and opened it.

He was surprised to see one of the King’s page boys standing there. “Are you the lute player, Mark Wolcott?” The boy asked.

“I am,” Mark replied.

“Good evening, I am sorry to disturb, but His Majesty has decided to dine publicly again tomorrow night and requests your services for another evening. Shall I relay to His Majesty you will stay?”

Mark stared at the boy wide-eyed for a few moments. The boy tilted his head at Mark in confusion, and then opened his mouth to ask again.

“Yes!” Mark exclaimed eagerly and a little too loudly. “Yes, of course! I will stay and play my heart out for His Majesty! Any song he likes! Anything at all!” He nearly grabbed the page boy and danced him around the room.

The boy bowed his head, amused by Mark’s reaction. “I will tell His Majesty at once. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight!” Mark called as the page boy left.

He closed the door, leaning against it, beaming. _H_ _e liked me! The King of Cordesia enjoyed my song_! Mark had never been happier to get the attention of a royal before. To be noticed by any king was amazing, but to be noticed by the King of Cordesia, of such a noble and powerful lineage of kings, was truly superb! Mark ran over to his bed to immediately add the good news to his letter.

His family would be so proud of him and just as sure as Mark was in that instant: he would become a musician in the Cordesian Court.


	3. Chapter 3

Derian could hardly catch his breath.

_The lute player…gazing down from the gallery above…and, I swear, right into my eyes…_

Derian stood in the Palace gardens. He’d left the Great Hall as soon as the lute player’s song ended. Maybe even a little before, because what he’d felt…the eyes of that young man…

_It was as if he could see inside me._

Derian wasn’t sure what he’d said to his father or Princess Matilde. She’d especially enjoyed the music and commented to him on the lute player’s skill. He hadn’t heard her precise words, for her interruption had irritated him. He didn’t want to miss a single note or a single word of that song. It was like Derian could _feel_ in his very bones what the lute player was trying to convey - the discovery of a new lover and the loss of that lover.

As Derian sat down on a bench, still trying to compose himself, a line from the song circled round and round in his mind: _When hence we lay side by side, your heart so joined tightly to mine, I wept for you that I must pine._

Derian felt a hollow ache inside him. Derian had never loved before and was not sure if he ever really pined. He was a virgin; a fact he was quite ashamed of at his age. Although he’d been shut up in his estate and had few interactions with boys or girls during his childhood, he still felt as if there should have been some point when it would have happened. A Viscount’s daughter came to stay in his household when he was twelve, and she kissed him on the lips and ran away giggling. He couldn’t be sure if he’d liked it or not; it had happened so quickly. Those that watched him, took care of him, and instructed him were not at all concerned over the sexual adventures of the young Prince. In fact, they were all forbidden to touch him and instructed any visitors not to touch him either. They told little Derian it was for his own safety; so he could not catch sickness or get injured if someone were to drop him.

But little Derian did not understand. He longed for an embrace from his father and sisters when they came for a visit. He especially longed for their comfort when one of his tutors had been particularly cruel and punishing. And once Derian had found out his mother died after giving birth to him, he was nearly beside himself with grief and yearned for the comfort of a warm embrace.

_I wept for you that I must pine._

Derian felt tears spring to his eyes. He did not know his mother but he missed the love his mother would have given him. She would have swept Derian up in her arms when he cried and comforted him. He knew it. He supposed it was for her he pined. Derian gazed up at the evening sky, a sprinkling of stars twinkling down at him. The ancient kings believed each star held the soul of a person. When they were born, the light of the star went out. But when that person died they returned to the sky and the light of their star twinkled once again. Derian had learned that the ancient kings believed starlight was where everyone began and where everyone ended. Derian’s eyes scanned the sky and wondered if his mother’s star twinkled down upon him that night.

“Would you be proud of me, mother?” He whispered. “I am Presented and a man now. So much I would give to have you here by my side.” As he gazed up into the ebony sky he thought he saw a star briefly shimmer in the low eastern horizon.

He smiled through his tears. _My mother’s star._

Just then, Derian heard footsteps on the paving stones. He wiped his eyes as Naeveen’s visage appeared in the moonlight.

“There you are,”Naeveen whispered. “Why have you come out here?”

Derian straightened his shoulders. “I needed some cool air. It gets stuffy in the Great Hall.”

“Stuffy?” Naeveen sat beside him. “It seemed quite drafty to me.”

Derian shrugged and tried not to sniffle, but one escaped anyway.

“What’s this?” Naeveen leaned forward to see his face more closely. “Pray, Derry. What is the matter?” She put an arm around him, quickly forgetting about any sort of etiquette.

Derian shook his head. “Nothing really. Or I don’t know. I needed to leave the Great Hall. And then when I came out here I started thinking of mother…”

“Oh, I see,” Naeveen replied gently. “You know that we all miss her terribly. And she would be beaming with pride over you right now.” She paused. “And there’s so much happening to you all at once. You’ve been kept away from everyone for years. It must be overwhelming, all this attention now.”

“I suppose.”

“And choosing a bride to top it all off. And Navelle’s tapping foot being no help.”

“I was wondering when you’d get to insulting me,” Navelle’s voice floated over the ivy covered walls.

“Oh, must you slink about like a snake,” Naeveen snipped. “Come out where we can see you.”

Navelle came round the garden wall and sat on a bench in front of them. She tap-tapped her blue brocade shoe against the paving stones. “I thought if I listened long enough,” she said dully. “You’d get around to poisoning Derian against me.”

“You’ve done that yourself,” Derian said derisively.

Navelle rolled her eyes. “I am not the one out here crying over unchangeable facts. Mother is dead. You are the Prince. You must marry. End of the tale.”

Naeveen furrowed her brow. “You are quite eloquent as usual sister. Quite.” She turned to Derian. “Come. Let us go back inside. Among those who are sensible and know their place.” She sneered at Navelle, and Navelle rolled her big indigo eyes in response

Derian went along with Naeveen, making one last glance up at the sky. He saw the twinkling star in the low eastern sky and made a wish. He wished to see the lute player again. And to hear the lute player sing to him and to him alone.

* * *

“Will you go riding this afternoon, Your Highness?” Princess Fayanna’s voice was just as elegant as her veil and headdress. Today she wore the same black veil, but her headdress was gold and set with pearls. Her long black hair hung in two complex plaits down her back. Her dress was high in the waist and matched her veil.

Derian was hardly paying attention. They’d rounded the gardens three times already. Derian thought the Palace gardens were much larger. He could have sworn they’d passed by the same stone nymphs a hundred times.

“Your Highness?” Princess Fayanna prompted.

Derian turned to her and blinked, pulling himself from his thoughts. He was supposed to be spending quality time with each potential bride. Already he’d sat among the Palace’s special rose blooms with Princess Hollyhark who chattered away about her love for the hunt. Then he sat by the stone pond, stocked with frogs and colorful fish, with Princess Lourdes who merely stared at him and waited for him to speak. Now he and Fayanna were walking around in circles, and talking around in circles, with their respective attendants a proper distance behind them.

He was thankful Fayanna kept her question quiet. “I beg your pardon, Princess,” he said, shaking his head. “What was it you said?”

“I was wondering, Your Grace, if you might go riding? The weather looks to be fair this afternoon.”

He nodded, still only half listening. He had spent a restless night. First, because for the first time since his birth, he was sleeping in his own room inside the Palace. Now that he was Presented, it was expected he make his home inside the Palace and retire to his own household when he needed a rest. Derian was not used to the Palace rooms. They were large, rich with decoration, and unfamiliar noises echoed through the antechambers. The Palace staff rose early and stayed up late. It would take Derian some getting used to. And secondly, he could not stop thinking of the lute player and his song. Derian had lain in his cavernous bed, staring at the back of the bed curtains, imagining the lute player was there, looking at Derian with those piercing jade eyes and singing to him a sweet melody. The song haunted Derian. He felt as if he needed to hear it again and again. Over and over until he was satisfied.

“I am not one for riding, Princess,” Derian answered quietly. “I think I will spend the afternoon reading.”

“Oh?” Under her veil, Derian could see Fayanna’s raised brow.

Derian never mastered his riding skills. Not in the way a true Prince should. There used to be grave concern that he might fall off the horse or be kicked. Derian rode tame old mares before they were put to pasture with an equally old mistress leading them at a plodding pace. To race and jump along the countryside was not something he’d been allowed.

Derian let the conversation between him and Fayanna fall flat as they approached the main entrance to the gardens. Derian could see his father standing there, leaning on his cane, with Princess Matilde beside him and her father, King Bowdyn. Derian struggled for a genuine smile as they drew closer.

“There you are,” King Lucius said chidingly, as if Derian had secretly stolen away with Fayanna. His tone irritated Derian, but he hid it with a smile, considering who was watching. His father gestured to the lady. “Princess Fayanna, dearest, please excuse this interruption, but I’d like to borrow my son for a bit, with your kind permission of course.”

Fayanna smiled graciously, but her tone betrayed her annoyance. “Of course, Majesty.” She curtsied. “I have had a lovely walk with the Prince in your beautiful gardens. I thank you for your hospitality today.”

“Indeed, Princess, indeed.” King Lucius rubbed his beard with his free hand, watching Fayanna and her ladies until they were out of sight.

“Your Majesty.” Derian bowed to King Bowdyn.

The King inclined his head. “Prince Derian. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Derian got a good look at his probable father-in-law. Where his father was fat, King Bowdyn was thin. Where his father had a beard, King Bowdyn had pock marks along his hairless cheeks and chin. And where Derian’s father wore a large over-robe to mask his girth and bad leg, King Bowdyn wore a fitted black doublet on his slender torso. Derian felt as if he were looking at a squat, old boulder next to a tall yew tree.

Princess Matilde stepped forward, her face smiling behind the veil. “His Majesty, King Lucius, has graciously planned a picnic by the river for us.”

Derian felt his stomach fall to his feet. He had been hoping for a rest, some time alone to think, and mostly to think of the lute player and his song. Derian’s stomach felt like it was flattening under a boulder. A fat boulder rolling beside a tall yew tree.

The royal foursome and their attendants made their way to the Lynet River, which was a short pleasant walk from the Palace gardens. The Lynet River ran south to north and, legend has it, did so because of some magic one of the ancient kings cast upon it. In the ancient days, invaders from the highlands would use the river to row an entire army into Cordesia and attack the people. An ancient king by the name of Octha had used a magical spell to turn the river’s current north and send the invading army back to the highlands. Derian thought of the legend fondly as they walked. One of his nursemaids used to tell it to him when he was a child to get him to sleep. Then Derian frowned when he remembered how he’d wished that nursemaid was his mother.

As they walked along, King Lucius came up alongside Derian and pulled him a little bit aways from Matilde. “This way, my boy, this way,” the King said loudly. “For here is that troublesome stone wall we must have fixed.”

Before Derian could say a word in return, his father glanced over his shoulder at Matilde hanging back to walk with her father. “I want you to know, Derian, that while all the ladies presented to you are fine and most virtuous, Her Grace has quite the advantage.”

“What do you mean, father?” Derian asked.

“King Bowdyn and Queen Helsin had many children and only one lived - _her._ Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Rosebourgh, will be Princess of Exia before long. Bowdyn has sent his armies to march upon the Exian Principalities and the people have willingly capitulated.” The King pulled Derian closer, his voice lowering to a light whisper. “Her dowry will include not only the throne of Rosebourgh, it will also include all the wealth and lands of Exia. Cordesia will be secure and your reign guaranteed long and prosperous, for the people of three nations will call you King.”

Derian felt his heart thump with agitation. “I see.”

“I hope you see,” King Lucius said sternly, his mouth a hard line behind his beard. “You must win the Princess as much as she must win you. Or else her father will marry her off to an Exian Prince, uniting them, and most certainly uniting Rosebourgh and Exia against Cordesia.”

Derian felt his face grow hot and his hands cold. “I understand.”

“Good.” King Lucian gave Derian’s elbow a firm squeeze before hobbling back to King Bowdyn. Derian fell in step beside Matilde once more and thought about asking God to take him away from this life, but God probably had better things to do.

At the river, attendants and Matilde’s maids put out blankets and cushions at a lovely spot by the water. They hung a canopy for shade and set out a lovely midday meal of Cordesian wine, berries, cheeses, and game pasty, baked in a golden crust. King Bowdyn seemed pleased with the food and chatted pleasantly with King Lucius while Derian tried to tolerate conversation with Matilde. His mind worked through what his father had told him and he tried to be as companionable and gentlemanly as possible. It was true then: Matilde would be his wife. For surely, King Bowdyn would see uniting Cordesia to Rosebourgh as an advantage. As Derian looked at her, he wondered sadly if he’d ever know true love or ever be truly loved himself. Immediately, the lute player and his song came into Derian’s mind:

_I wept for you that I must pine._

He wanted so badly to hear that song again. Again and again. And to look upon the young man that had sung it to him, but now, nearly a whole day later, Derian was sure the lute player hadn’t been singing to him. Derian was mistaken. The lute player had been looking at one of the Princesses or even one of his sisters, surely. _That makes far more sense,_ he thought with disappointment. _And why should I be disappointed? Why should a handsome lute player sing verse to me? It should be a beautiful lady. It should be -_

“I very much enjoyed the lute player last night,” Matilde said.

Derian turned his head to her, feeling his face redden. “What?”

“His song,” she said. “It was so romantic and yet so sad. The words very nearly made me weep.” She tilted her face down as if she might do so that very second.

“Oh,” Derian replied, clearing his throat. “Yes. I rather enjoyed the music as well.”

The Princess lifted her face slightly. “Do you play?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you play the lute, Highness? I do so love the lute. Such a lovely instrument.”

Derian opened his mouth to tell her that he did not play the lute but from behind him came a response.

“Why yes, Princess!” His father said. “Derian is very skilled at the lute!”

Derian turned to look at his father. King Lucius gave him a glance that urged him to be silent. “I am surprised he has not told you already,” his father continued. “The finest lute players in all the kingdom taught my son to play.”

A smile appeared behind Matilde’s veil. “Oh, how lovely. I would very much love to hear you one day, Your Highness.”

Derian could feel himself withering under his father’s gaze. “Indeed, Princess. And I should love to play for you.”

* * *

Derian waited until they were inside the Palace before he pulled his father aside.

He forgot all about court etiquette as he grabbed the old man by the arm and pulled him into a stone archway. “Why did you say thus, father?” Derian demanded. “I know nothing of music and certainly nothing of the lute!”

King Lucius pulled his arm from his son’s grip. “You must pay court to the Princess as I told you. You are not the only Prince that bleb-faced Bowdyn will present to her. If saying you play her favorite instrument will win her, then you must say it.”

“But it is not true! And she has requested me to play for her! She will know the lie as soon as I pick it up!”

For a second, wily King Lucius looked as if he hadn’t considered that. Then a slight smile came to his eyes. “I have asked the lute player from last night to play for us again at dinner tonight. I will send word to Lysley that the lute player is to stay with us in the Palace. I will tell Lysley that the you’ve taken a keen interest in music and have set your mind to learning the lute. Would he be so kind as to request the lute player give you lessons? And we will pay him handsomely for his efforts. The boy will not refuse.”

Derian felt a sweat break out over his skin. His mouth began to go dry. “The - the lute player…from…last night?”

“Yes, of course. The Princess commented on his talent. A fine musician such as him will have you playing in no time. You can begin tomorrow afternoon, after King Bowdyn and his daughter have departed.”

Derian felt a sudden jolt of nerves. He felt as if he would be going before all the Lords in the kingdom, completely nude, and giving a speech. “But - but surely there are other lute players,” Derian stammered. “Master Strang taught music as well as poetry in my household. Perhaps he -”

“Nonsense,” the King sniffed. “Master Strang is miles away when the young man his right here.”

“Yes, but…,” Derian could not fathom nor explain what was making him feel so…feverish. There was nothing at all wrong with what his father suggested - except that it was all based on a lie. Still, it would be nice to learn to play…Derian had always wanted to, but his tutors were very strict and thought a Cordesian Prince should know how to govern, not waste his time on frivolities such as music.

But the thought of being alone with the lute player…face to face…

_It was the way he looked at me,_ Derian thought. _Right into my eyes…as if…almost as if…_

“But nothing.” King Lucius waved a hand, pushing aside Derian’s words. “Tomorrow afternoon you will begin and before long you will be ready to woo Her Highness whenever she wishes. Think of the alliances, my boy. And all your future subjects.”

But Derian could not think of future subjects or alliances. He could only think of the lute player as his father walked away. The young man’s eyes of jade, peering deep into Derian’s heart.

_As if he could see into the very depths of my soul._


	4. Chapter 4

Mark stood in front of the mirror in his very own room inside the Cordesian Palace.

Of course the room was small, meant for a chambermaid in the olden days, but it was just outside of the royal apartments. Mark had a decent sized bed and a washing table with a polished mirror. A small window beside the bed brought in cheery sunlight and overlooked the Palace gardens. He smiled at his reflection. He was a Cordesian Palace musician at last!

Or rather, he was giving the Prince lessons, but Lysley had intimated that Mark would be performing at banquets and masques as well. Either way, Mark was happy to be in the Palace’s employ. He could not believe his luck!

Mark hummed to himself as he prepared for his first lesson with the Prince. He was to go to the Prince’s rooms that afternoon. Although he was excited, Mark had to admit he was a bit anxious. Last night, playing in the gallery with other musicians once again, Mark had stolen a few glances down below. King Lucius had seemed distracted with the King of Rosebourgh. And the Prince looked just as distracted with the King of Rosebourgh’s daughter. Mark noted that all the other Princesses were gone, and that the Prince did not make a single glance towards the gallery. Mark was surprised to feel a bit disappointed. He’d worried he hadn’t impressed the royal family after all and perhaps the King had only asked him to stay for the benefit of their foreign guests.

But later that night, Lysley delivered the request and Mark nearly burst with joy. He could hardly speak to ask Lysley to thank His Majesty for such a gracious opportunity. Mark was then moved from the dank and dull servants quarters to the Palace’s royal apartments. He was officially employed by the royal family of Cordesia, and Mark couldn’t wait to tell his family. He’d woken at dawn that morning and immediately sought out parchment and quill. He finished up the letter and put in a few coins as well, sealing it with candle wax in a small leather purse.

With that done, Mark once again checked his reflection. He didn’t know why a certain giddiness fluttered in his belly. And with a worry he could not quite place. Perhaps it was because he had never taught anyone before. Or the most obvious fact: he would be in the presence of a Prince. The flutters in his belly got worse as Mark’s worries increased. A _Prince_ …how should he be? How should he correct His Highness if he fingered the strings all wrong? Would Mark be sent away if he told the Prince he played the wrong note?

Mark nervously pulled out his music and the old lute he intended for the Prince to use. Mark had spent the morning writing simple scales the Prince could practice on his own time. He began to second guess if he should write something simpler or if he should take his old lute and give the Prince his new one to use. The old one had thinning strings and a few nicks in the neck, but Mark had polished the wood till it shone and tightened the strings so the notes sounded clear and as good as new. And, after all, if the Prince was unfamiliar with the lute, would he notice?

Mark made a few more adjustments and before long there was a knock on his door and Lysley appeared. Mark gathered up this music and the lutes, took a deep breath and smiled. “Is his Highness ready for me?”

* * *

The Princes rooms were as grand as anything Mark had ever seen.

There were thickly woven tapestries in the anterooms and velvet wall hangings in the entrance to the Prince’s chambers. Courtiers moved about, giving Mark a second glance when they saw where he was headed. The Cordesian standard hung above the doorways and there was a painting of the young Prince hanging just above the fireplace. He’d merely been a child, standing with one hand on his hip, his face as stern as could be. It made Mark wonder at his new pupil’s temperament. Just a couple nights ago, Mark had thought the Prince seemed a soft soul as he looked up at Mark singing. But now he wasn’t so sure. He looked across the room to see a figure sitting straight and proper in a chair by a writing desk. The auburn-haired head turned towards them.

Lysley bowed. “Your Highness, Mark Wolcott. The lute player.”

Sweat began to prickle on Mark’s upper lip as he stepped forward. “It is a most wonderful pleasure, Your Highness.” Mark attempted to kneel, but it was difficult holding two lutes and his satchel full of music. Mark stumbled a bit and the satchel fell from his arm; parchments - loose and rolled - quills and ink spilled all over the fine rugs.

Mark stared at the mess he’d made with stunned horror. Then he quickly dropped to his knees and scrambled to clean it up. He could hear Lysley clicking his tongue and tapping his foot. Mark’s face flamed as one of the parchments rolled across the Omans rug to the Prince. He picked it up, stood up from the chair, and walked over. Mark looked up to see the Prince standing front of him. The Prince bent to hand Mark the rolled parchment.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Mark said nervously. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I must have lost my balance.”

The Prince’s deep brown eyes reminded Mark of a warm and hazy hearth. “It is quite all right. There is no need to be sorry.”

Mark stared into the Prince’s eyes for a moment, remembering what it was like just the other night. There was that strange pull once again; a pull that made Mark feel as if he were an arrow, sailing through the air towards his target. He felt his ears grow warm. He saw a light flush bloom on the Prince’s cheeks.

Lysley cleared his throat.

Mark stood up with the satchel. Lysley gave him a look of annoyance. “I assure you, Highness, Mark is a fine musician and did not mean to offend you by being so clumsy.”

“I am not offended,” the Prince said quickly and with a kind smile. “It is quite a bit to carry.” He nodded to the lutes and music. “I am pleased you have come so prepared.”

“Yes, of course.” Mark dipped his head. “And I thank Your Grace for being so kind in my humiliation.”

Something faraway flickered in the Prince’s eyes. He gestured to a corner of his enormous room. “Shall we play over here? Where the light is better?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mark agreed. “That would be most suitable.”

Lysley bowed. “I will take my leave then, Highness, with your approval.”

“You may leave us,” the Prince replied as Mark arranged two chairs in front of each other. He assembled a wooden music stand from his satchel, set a few pieces of music upon it, and positioned it in between the chairs so the music was facing towards them.

Mark handed the Prince his newest lute and gestured for him to have a seat. “If it pleases you, Your Highness, we can get started.”

The Prince looked at the lute in his hand, holding it awkwardly by the neck. He slowly sat down and lay the lute across his lap. Mark smiled. “First, Your Highness, you must learn how to hold it properly.” Mark saw the Prince’s cheeks begin to color and he quickly added. “I used to hold it as if it were a harp. One of my instructors at school finally corrected me.”

The Prince’s cheeks reddened even more.

Now it was Mark’s turn to blush. “Not that I am correcting you, Highness,” he said quickly. “It is just that - it is only that -”

A warm smile spread over the Prince’s lips. “It’s all right. If I need correcting you must tell me.”

Mark smiled back. “See here, Your Highness.” Mark held the lute on his lap. “It is more comfortable to hold it up with the neck this way and the ribs against your stomach. Like this.” Mark demonstrated.

“The neck?” The Prince frowned, trying imitate Mark. “Ribs?”

“Yes, you see the - there’s a neck and a body and a head, and…,” Mark laughed softly. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness, I fear I was not prepared after all. For you see, you are my first student ever.”

“I am your first?” The Prince smiled.

Mark felt himself flushing again and a warm excitement spread in his stomach. “Indeed. I should have explained to you first what everything is called. So I don’t confuse you.” Mark held up his lute and pointed to each piece he named. “This is the body.” He pointed to the broad tear-drop shaped bottom of the instrument. “And this is called the ribs.” He turned the instrument around so the back was facing the Prince. “See here, Your Highness? The woodwork, how it is slatted like this? It looks like ribs, and it’s really quite beautiful, but alas no one ever sees it.”

“It’s true,” the Prince noted, examining his lute. “Very beautiful.”

Mark showed the Prince the neck where the frets were and the head, or _pegbox,_ where the pegs were, to tighten and tune the strings. Mark explained that the bend of the pegbox was called a _nut_ and was made so to keep the string tension against the neck. Mark was surprised to feel himself blushing when he explained it and to see the Prince’s cheeks turning pink as well.

Mark cleared his throat. “And the most beautiful part of all, at least to me, is this.” He pointed to the decorative hole in the center. “It’s called a _rose._ ”

“Rose,” the Prince repeated, running his fingers along the intricate wood carving, stroking some of the strings and gentle notes filled the air.

Mark felt another stirring as he watched the Prince’s hand - the unmistakable rush of blood to his cock. He set his lute across his lap and cleared his throat again. “Yes, I’ve heard different reasons why it’s called a rose. Some say it comes from the carvings and windows in the cathedrals. And some of my instructors insisted it’s because the decoration is just as intricate as the flower, a simple nickname. And some people have said it means nothing at all and the design is just to reinforce the wood and keep it from breaking.”

The Prince looked up from the lute at Mark curiously. “But what do you think?”

Mark blinked, a little surprised. He ran a finger along the circular carving. “I don’t know, Your Highness. I believe there is some meaning. There must be, otherwise it’s just wood and what good is that?” Mark peered closely at the carving. “It is as intricate as the flower and as beautiful, so perhaps that is the correct origin. Cathedral windows make sense as well.” He sighed. “But I also think…I think that…” Mark bit his lip, hesitating.

“Yes? Go on.”

Mark looked up to see the Prince was leaning towards him, a look of fascination on his face. Mark hesitated for a moment longer still. “It’s silly, Highness, but when I was little, my mother used to tell me stories of the ancient days, and I…,” Mark laughed and shook his head. “It’s all very childish, Your Highness.”

The Prince smiled. “No. Please. Tell me.” His voice was soft and curious. “I was told the stories, too. I think they are comforting.”

Mark smiled back. “Well, there was one she would tell me often, and my siblings, too. She’d gather us around and tell us about how the rose came to Cordesia. She said that in the ancient days no flowers bloomed in whole kingdom. There were only grasses, rocks, and trees. The ancient kings came and their queens found the countryside dull because there was no color. Queen Gwendolen, wife of King Werian, wove little bits of fabric together, wound it all around a twig, and stuck it in the ground and called it a rose. She put them everywhere, had her ladies make them, and soon she had her own ‘flower’ garden on the hillsides. Then one night the Lady in the Moon came to Queen Gwendolen in a dream. She promised the Queen she would make all the roses live on for generations in Cordesia if the Queen would make her an instrument for music; so she could lull her people into peaceful slumber. The Queen set to work and made the very first lute. She carved the centerpiece like her woven fabrics and called it a rose in the Lady’s honor. She gave her creation to the Lady of the Moon and there’s been music and roses in Cordesia ever since.”

Mark got lost in the memory of those stories for a few moments. He smiled to himself. In those days, his father had been alive and listening, when the sheep were out to pasture. Mark missed those quiet evenings at home, after supper, everyone sitting in front of the fire. Sometimes Mark would play a song for everyone and they would all sing. He missed those days very much.

“I think you’re right,” the Prince said softly, rousing Mark from his thoughts. “There is some meaning.” He grinned. “And I like your meaning most of all.”

Mark felt a heat spread though his middle and felt his prick harden as he looked into the Prince’s eyes. Closer like this, Mark could see little gold flecks in the hickory irises. When the Prince’s eyes caught the sunlight, it brought out the red tones in the his hair. Mark could hardly tear his eyes away, and he began to realize that the Prince was studying him right back. The Prince’s lips parted, as if he were going to speak, when there was a noise at the door.

Mark turned to see Princess Naeveen coming through with Princess Navelle behind her.

“Honestly!” Shouted Naeveen, rounding on her sister. “Just because you want to be miserable, does not mean you can make the rest of us miserable, too!”

Princess Navelle looked poised to strike back, but she was facing Mark and the Prince, whereas Princess Naeveen had her back to them. Princess Navelle looked amusedly at Mark. “And who is this, dear brother? A new friend?”

Princess Naeveen turned around and looked at Mark, her face turning scarlet. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know -” She looked at the Prince for help. “I thought you were alone, Derian.”

“And what difference would that make?” Navelle mumbled, as she made her way over. “It isn’t as if Derian would be torn between us.” She stood over Mark. “Ah, you’re the lute player. From the other night, aren’t you?”

Mark rose and bowed deeply. “Yes, Your Highness. Mark Wolcott.”

“You don’t need to do that, though it’s kind of you,” Navelle said dully, sitting down by the fireplace. “Everyone knows who’s important in this family and it isn’t me.”

“There you go _again_ ,” Princess Naeveen exclaimed. “Can’t you see Derian is in the middle of something? Let us leave him be.”

“You’re the one that insisted on bursting in here like some lunatic,” Navelle retorted. “And here we are. So now that we’ve officially interrupted, we might as well continue.”

Mark turned to the Prince, who had his face in his hands, shaking his head. He stood slowly and looked irritably at his sisters. “Yes, please go. Mark has graciously agreed to take up his time and talent teaching me to play the lute.”

“Really?” Naeveen looked perplexed. “Why, that’s very kind of you, Mark, but why ever would you want to play the lute, Derian?”

Mark noticed the Prince was avoiding his eyes. “It is none of your concern. Please go. We can talk, or argue, or whatever it is you wanted, later.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Navelle laced her fingers together and rested them on her lap. “Play us something, Mark. Or, perhaps, you too, dear brother?”

Mark opened his mouth to reply, but Naeveen shot across the room and yanked Navelle up by the arm. “Let us _go_! Why must you be so impertinent?”

“And why must you be so violent, handling me like a common housemaid,” Navelle snipped.

Naeveen pulled Navelle out of the room and muttered her apologies, closing the door behind them. Mark blinked a few times and turned to look up at the Prince. His expression was exasperated and he appeared a little embarrassed as well. Mark gave him a soft smile. “I have sisters, too.”

The Prince sat back down. “Do you have sisters like that?”

“No, but they’re very young still yet. Perhaps one day.”

Mark felt as if the Prince were looking right through him. “Perhaps.” He picked up the lute, his tone changed. “Shall we continue?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mark agreed.

For the remainder of the lesson, the Prince was quieter, sterner, and Mark didn’t know what to make of it. He tried to be extra kind to assure the Prince his sisters’ interruption had not affected anything. Before Mark left he gave the Prince a few simple scales to practice and drew a quick diagram of the notes on each string. After gathering up his things and his old lute - for he intended for the Prince to use his newest one - Mark reluctantly made his way to the door.

“I hope the lesson was satisfactory, Your Highness,” Mark said softly. “And that you are well pleased with my instruction.”

The Prince had been gazing out of the window, not paying Mark the least bit of attention. Then he turned to look at Mark, his face softening. He stood. “I am well pleased, Mark. Thank you.” He walked Mark to the door. “I hope that I was a good student. For your first time.”

Mark looked at the Prince. The Prince was slightly taller, a feature Mark very much liked, and there was an expression in the Prince’s eyes; one of amusement and secretiveness.

“Yes,” Mark said slowly. “I have enjoyed it, Your Highness. For my first time.”

Mark suspected he may have imagined it, but he thought he heard the Prince draw in a sharp breath. Quickly, Mark bowed and took his leave.

* * *

Back in his room, Mark stood against the door, his heart thumping wildly.

His prick was as hard as stone, and he had a strange sense that something had happened, but he wasn’t sure what. He felt almost as he did when he’d been around the young baritone: lustful, yearning, and aching. The Prince was handsome, absolutely, and they’d had a moment the other night…but there was something else today…

Before Mark could ponder on it any further, he unbuttoned his breeches and fell onto his bed. His cock sprang up hard and thick and Mark began to stroke it. His eye lids fluttered as he thought about how the Prince had said _first time_ and how the Prince blushed. He thought about the Prince’s blushing face getting on his knees…taking Mark’s cock in his Princely hand…sliding his elegant fingers up and down the shaft…

Mark pumped faster as he thought about the Prince pulling back his foreskin, licking the tip of his cock, kissing it with his full lips…Mark whimpered…he thought of laying naked in bed with the Prince. Placing a lute in his arms and teaching him how to finger the strings…then how to finger his cock…

Mark cried out as he spent all over his doublet in thick spurts. He lay still for a few moments, his limbs heavy, as he caught his breath and tried to halt his racing thoughts. He liked the Prince, that much was so, and he desired the Prince, that was so as well. Yes, it had all begun the other night when he sang his song. He’d felt something then, but had the Prince really been looking at him? Perhaps Mark had imagined it. It mattered not either way. For this is all it would ever be: a distant attraction, a mild admiration, and, yes, perhaps a passing lust.

Yes, Mark thought to himself, that is all. He could not risk losing his position nor tarnishing his reputation by flirting with the Prince of Cordesia. Mark made himself promise: it will not be - and must never be - anymore than this.


	5. Chapter 5

Derian stood at his door, listening to Mark’s footsteps fade down the corridor.

He could not move for a few moments; as if a strange spell had come over him, rendering him useless. _Did I really say to him ‘first time’?_ Derian groaned inwardly. _How stupid!_ He began to wonder if that was why Mark’s cheeks flushed when Derian spoke, because it was a stupid thing to say.

How foolish.

But…how wonderful…and how _humiliating!_

He bunched his fists, thinking of Naeveen and Navelle bursting in, arguing, and embarrassing him all at once. Did they think that because he lived in the Palace now, they could enter his rooms as they pleased? He would have to be sure to lock his door tomorrow…if Mark came back tomorrow…

Oh, he hoped! He hoped the interruption had not frightened Mark away. And then Derian frowned, wondering why he hoped that to begin with. _Because I want to hear the song again,_ he told himself. Perhaps he could ask Mark tomorrow if he might play it for him, but he was supposed to be learning so he could impress the Princess.

Derian wandered over to the two chairs Mark had arranged. They were still facing one another. Derian sat in Mark’s chair. He thought of Mark’s lovely eyes looking right into his just a few minutes ago. Derian sighed. He felt strangely aroused; in a lazy way, not in the urgent ways he would get when he lived in his own household. The more Derian thought about Mark’s careless hair, his sharp green eyes, and his smile, the more aroused he became.

Quickly, Derian latched the door to his rooms, then went through a pair of red velvet curtains to his bedroom. He tied the curtains closed, removed his boots, and got into his bed, where he also drew the curtains and tied them shut. He had to take these precautions since being caught by a nursemaid when he was younger. The nursemaid told Derian he would go blind if he touched himself too much and threatened to tell his father if she caught him again. How shameful it would be if the sole heir to Cordesia lost his sight from stroking his cock.

Oddly enough, sometimes the threat of being caught made Derian even more excited. He would think of it when he touched himself, and right then, as he fell into his cavernous bed, Derian began to imagine being caught with the lute player…

He imagined Mark arriving for their lesson tomorrow. He would kneel and say: _Your Highness._ Derian would look down at Mark’s head, level with his hips, then Mark would look up at him, a devilish glint in his jade eyes. Derian groaned and began to slide his hand up and down his hard length. Mark would begin to unbutton Derian’s breeches, Derian’s cock falling out, hard and throbbing and ready. Mark would look at it hungrily and beg His Highness if he might have a taste. Derian stroked faster. The tip was already dripping wet and he ran his thumb over it, thinking of how the door might be unlatched, how anyone could walk in and see Mark Wolcott, the lute player, gingerly sliding the Prince of Cordesia’s cock between his soft lips…

It was too much. Derian squeezed his eyes shut as he spent hard into his hand. He shuddered again and again as his warm seed spilled all over his fingers and palm. For a few minutes, he lay breathless and in slight disbelief. Had he really just imagined this? Had he really came with the thought of another young man sucking his cock? Derian felt the sting of shame and with it a creeping, careful feeling of devilish delight. It could be his secret. No one else ever had to know. He could let his thoughts run wild when he was alone like this and that was all.

A few minutes later, he heard a knock on the outer door, his page calling for him to go before the King’s Grace. Mark quickly cleaned himself up, and within a few minutes left his room to do his Princely duty.

* * *

Derian could hear the frogs croaking in the distance.

The sound had gently lulled him to sleep since he’d come to live in the Cordesian Palace. But tonight he was wide awake and no frog sounds could help him. He thought of ringing for his manservant and asking for a sleeping draught, but it would make him too drowsy for the early morning. He had to rise before sunup with his father. In the morning, he was going to instruct Derian on matters of state: acts passed by the Lords, keeping up with the treasury, and any sort of disputes in the villages. Surely, there were people in King Lucius’ government who could do these things, but King Lucius liked to have his hands in all aspects of governing. And so he was going to instruct Derian on how to do exactly the same.

And Derian wanted no part of it.

It was a sick feeling that crept upon him slowly. The realization that one day his father would be gone and he would be responsible for Cordesia. And if his courtship of Princess Matilde went as planned, Derian would be responsible for Rosebourgh and Exia as well. And the more subjects Derian had, the more his problems would grow. The more his responsibilities and the fight to keep his kingdom together would increase. Already Derian was feeling the strain.

Because he did not want it.

He did not want Cordesia. He did not want Rosebourgh. He did not want Exia.

_I do not want to be King!_

Derian pressed the heels of this hands to his eyes. In a fortnight, he would be traveling to Rosebourgh to pay court to Princess Matilde. His father was already making such a fuss over the journey and their arrival. They would travel in State and progress through the countryside, paying visits upon some of the more powerful Lords. King Lucius liked to make these visits to see that the Lords were not planning to take his throne. Derian learned about the grave mistake King Lucius III had made when he placed far too much trust in his landed nobles. They had planned a secret uprising, stockpiled weapons, and recruited an army five thousand strong. Lucius III only learned about it in time because one of the participants had wagged his tongue to a chambermaid. The uprising was squashed, the masterminds executed, and the rest were either imprisoned or exiled. It was a lesson passed down to Derian’s father: never, ever trust the Lords.

But Derian did not care about the blasted Lords. He did not care for uprisings, for land, for power, for anything at all. Well…there was perhaps one exception…

Derian turned on his side and rubbed his fingers together. They ached a little from his lute lesson that day. Mark told him that after a time there would be callouses on his fingers from plucking the strings. Derian had felt the rough patches on Mark’s fingers that day. It had made him practically melt. Mark was teaching him a simple song that Derian planned to play for Matilde. He hoped it would be enough to impress her and that she would not ask for more. As Derian tried to imitate Mark’s fingers on the strings and at the same time make sure he was pressing on the correct frets, he became a little frustrated and stopped playing.

Mark stopped as well. “What’s the matter, Your Highness?”

“I can’t do it,” Derian said sullenly. “How do you keep pace with both hands? When they are doing different things?” His shoulders slumped. “I am not able to learn, I’m afraid. Perhaps you are wasting your time.”

Mark looked at Derian sympathetically, set down his lute, and stood up. “May I try something, Your Highness?”

“Try what?” Derian asked.

Mark hesitated. “If I may,” he reached out, “might I…guide your hands?”

Derian stared up at Mark. He could feel his face flaming. “You mean…touch me?”

The pupils in Mark’s jade eyes darkened slightly. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Derian gave his assent and then he felt Mark’s warm and dexterous fingers upon his own. He felt the rough patch of skin from Mark’s fingertips brush up against his as Mark guided his fingers on the lute. Instantly, Derian’s heart beat like marching drums. His skin felt hot and before he could blink there was a heat between his legs unlike he’d ever felt. On impulse, he’d pulled his hands away and pretended to cough.

“Highness, are you all right?” Mark had asked worriedly.

“Yes, yes,” Derian said in between fake coughs. “I think I swallowed…er…I think I took breath and swallowed all at once. I beg your pardon.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Mark had said doubtfully. “I apologize if I have offended you.”

Derian apologized again and said he was not offended. _Not at all offended,_ he thought. _Quite the contrary._ He’d felt giddy, almost dizzy, and near the end of their lesson he was able to muster up the courage to ask Mark to play his song for him. They’d had several lessons and at each one Derian was unable to ask. He felt as if he were revealing a secret or as if he were showing Mark a hidden piece of his heart. For a reason he could not explain, he felt silly, even embarrassed, that he wanted to hear the beautiful song again.

But today, prompted by the feeling of Mark’s hands upon his own, Derian was finally able to ask and to his absolute delight, Mark agreed to play his song for him. Derian sat as still as he could as Mark tuned his lute, twisting the pegs and plucking the strings, and Derian held his breath as the first notes of that lovely song floated through the air and deep into Derian’s heart.

It was even more lovely than before. Derian closed his eyes and sang his favorite lines to himself. The haunting notes sailed around the room as if on a lonely ship in rolling waters, and Derian opened his eyes on the third verse to see Mark’s eyes completely closed, his face full of emotion, as he sang:

_O Heart, thy meddlesome anguish grows,_

_For this night a lonesome wind doth blow._

_The angels tears through starlight flow,_

_For this last time, love, kiss me slow!_

Derian sighed. He practically swooned. _Love…kiss me slow_ …yes, he could imagine it and that was when it happened. When Derian wanted to get up from his chair, push Mark’s lute aside, and kiss him breathless. Kiss his lips, his hands, his neck, his face, his careless umber hair. And for Mark to kiss him back, to wrap his arms around him, pull him close. It was so vivid in that instant, Mark’s panting breath, his fingers slipping into Derian’s hair…

In that instant, Derian was aroused - and frightened. He could not be thinking these things in Mark’s presence. Alone in his bed it was different, but here in the light of day Derian feared Mark might see through him and know his thoughts. Derian put his lute over his lap to hide his hardened cock just as the last notes of the song faded around them.

Mark stared out of the window for a moment as the last note he strummed faded away, then he looked at Derian and smiled. Derian smiled nervously back. “Thank you, Mark. ‘Tis a beautiful song, the most beautiful I have ever heard.” He cleared his throat and averted his eyes. “Now, I must tend to some stately business.”

Mark’s smile disappeared. “Yes, Your Highness. I will take my leave.” He began to gather up his things and Derian sat as still as he could, still trying to hide his aroused state. Derian did not think he could do without Mark in the weeks he would be gone to pay court to Princess Matilde. How would he get through his days without the lessons?

As Mark gave Derian a parting bow and made his way to the door, Derian called. “Mark, wait.” He still couldn’t get up, so he clutched the lute tighter and remained seated. “I will be going to Rosebourgh in a fortnight. I would very much like it if you came with me.”

Mark’s smile was like a bright sun. “Of course, Your Highness. I would be happy to accompany you.”

Derian felt himself flush. “Yes, well, I may need more lessons before I see the Princess. For I must play for her.” Derian looked at his feet, his face warm. “She believes I am as accomplished at the lute as yourself.”

“Oh.” Mark looked puzzled. “I see.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Derian attempted to explain. “But I must play for her, and I will need you to help prepare me, if you have the time.”

Mark’s eyes became hazy and had a faraway look. “I have all the time in the world for you, Highness.”

Derian swallowed. The words went straight to his crotch. And his heart. “Thank you, Mark.” He looked away, every inch of his skin tingling. “That will be all.”

Mark smiled, bowed once more, and left. As soon as the door was shut, Derian latched it, dropped his breeches and stroked his aching cock until he spent all over his hands.

* * *

The Cordesian standard flew high in the air.

It was a four-squared standard, with a hillside and trees in one square, a dragon in another, a sun in yet another, and in the final one a sword. The standard was supposed to depict how the ancient kings arrived to find the land warm and hilly, but overrun with the mythical beasts. The legend goes that the dragons had imprisoned the fairies that made the flowers grow and the elves that directed the brooks and streams. The dragons defended this land with fiery breaths and cruelty until the ancient kings arrived and slaughtered their leader, Agyfen. There was a painting in the Palace of King Druce holding Agyfen’s head. Derian had seen it many times as a child. He did not really believe there were dragons on this land, but he enjoyed the stories.

He thought of them as they made their progress through the villages. People came out of their homes to watch the royal retinue and call, “God Save King Lucius!” and “God Save Prince Derian!” Derian would smile and wave, but his father gave them a curt nod. The King was far too fat and his leg too bad to mount a horse. They carried him in a litter, decorated lavishly in cloth-of-gold, rich Omans curtains, and golden poles carried by sturdy yeomen. King Lucius had refused at first, but then found the transport more kingly than horseback and considered himself like an Omans Emperor.

Derian turned to smile at Mark riding alongside him. His menservants perhaps thought him strange for having his musician beside him, but Derian wanted Mark where he could see him; where he could admire him, truthfully. He found he could talk with Mark easily and when they stopped to rest and find water and shade for the horses, Mark would serenade the riding party with a song. Derian liked to pretend Mark was serenading only to him.

They stopped at Lord Dalston’s estate first for a few day’s rest. Lord Dalston bowed at the King’s robes like a sniffing dog and went far out of his way to make the King’s visit grand and lavish. There was a banquet with venison hunted on Dalston’s own lands and dancing and music to entertain the royal guests. Derian recalled Lord Dalston coming to kneel before him at his Presenting. Lord Dalston was a shrewd-looking man with tiny mud-colored eyes squished behind the the broad planes of his face. Derian had not liked the look of the man when he knelt down and kissed the royal ring on Derian’s finger. He had thought Lord Dalston looked deceptive and quite ugly. He wanted to warn his father this was a man to watch closely, but Derian was distracted.

Very, very distracted.

He did not want Mark to sit with the other musicians or even play with them. He coveted Mark’s company like a poor man coveted coins, but Derian worried if he asked Mark to dine beside him, it would insult their host, for Mark was in the serving class after all. The only way Derian could seek Mark’s company at Lord Dalston’s manor without arousing any unwanted attention was to request Mark for their lessons. After all, Derian needed to practice the song for Matilde. And Mark happily came to Derian’s room with his lute and did whatever Derian asked. It made Derian’s heart pound, made his blood flow thickly in his veins, and it also frightened him. The closer they got to Rosebourgh, he could think of nothing else or no one else except Mark Wolcott.

It was during their last evening at Lord Dalston’s manor, that Derian could no longer resist. He excused himself after dinner, interrupting his father and Lord Dalston as they talked, to look for Mark. He was seated at one of the lowest tables, with the other musicians, far from Derian’s sight. As Derian approached, everyone at the table stood to bow, their eyes wide, and Derian waved them all down.

“Please, that is not necessary. I have only come for Mark.” He caught the young man’s eye. “I have a mind to go walking in the gardens, Mark, and I would like some company.”

Mark rose to his feet. “Of course, Your Grace.” He bowed his head. “Shall I bring my lute?”

Derian looked at all the other musicians and servants watching them. “If you like. I may have an inclination for music.” He turned and left the servants’ hall and made his way outside to wait for Mark to join him. When a couple of his attendants followed him out, as they were supposed to do, Derian sent them away.

After a time, Derian heard a step on the stone walkway, and turned to see Mark striding towards him, holding his lute by the neck, a bright smile on his face. “I came as quick as I could, Highness.” Mark bowed his head. He set the lute in his arms. “What shall I play for you?”

Derian smiled softly. “Nothing for now, Mark. Will you walk with me?”

Mark looked a little confused. He strapped the lute to his back. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Derian was not sure as to what he was doing. It was a lovely night and his head was a whirlwind. He hadn’t slept well since arriving, thinking of Lord Dalston’s shrewdish face, playing for Princess Matilde, and the eventual reality of taking her hand in marriage. The fears and worries of the future made Derian’s heart pitter-patter and his hands turn sweaty. The future seemed so bleak, so long, and so empty of anything other than order, propriety, and duty. It made him slow his step as he walked and his face was drawn into a frown.

After walking for a while in silence, Mark glanced over at him. “I beg your pardon, Highness, but are you feeling all right?”

Derian turned to him. “Yes.” He stopped and sighed. “No, rather. I am not, I’m afraid.”

Mark nodded. “Might I ask why?”

Derian cast his eyes upwards and towards the low eastern sky to look for his mother’s star, but he did not see it. “It is silliness, Mark. For my worries would sound foolish to a young man such as you.”

Mark nodded again, slowly. “That may be so, Highness, but worries for any man is difficult. Prince or not. We none of us should have cause to worry, and yet we do. Although it does not help but hinders.”

Derian turned slowly to Mark, facing him. “Mark, I must tell you a secret,” he said softly. “I must tell someone of this burden.”

Mark’s piercing eyes widened and his lips parted as he took one step closer. “Yes, Highness?”

Derian felt faint for a moment. The desire to brush a lock of Mark’s hair from his forehead and to trace the outline of his lips was so overpowering for a few moments, Derian could not take breath. He blinked, shook his head, shook out the thoughts. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and said, “I do not want to be the King of Cordesia. I do not want to pay court to the Princess. I want no part of any of it.”

Derian kept his eyes closed and Mark said nothing. When Derian opened them, he saw Mark gazing up at the sky thoughtfully.

“I know it is wrong of me to think such,” Derian continued. “For it is my earthly duty, my birthright. And I know it may sound ridiculous to someone like you.”

Mark shifted his eyes to Derian. “Someone like me, Highness?”

“Yes, I…I only meant that, well, the differences into the circumstances in which we were born. A Prince lamenting his fate must sound ridiculous to one who is not royal.” Derian was tripping all over his words. For a fearful minute, he thought he’d insulted Mark, but Mark simply gave him a phantom of a smile and cast his eyes upwards once again.

“I was only thinking, Highness,” Mark said slowly and quietly. “Of how the ancients used to believe the stars were fixed in their places.” He paused a moment, his eyes taking on a dreamy look. “But it is not true. The stars move across the sky and change from season to season, year to year.”

“But it is only a change of position,” Derian added. “Not in the place of the star itself.”

Mark looked at him.

Derian smiled weakly. “I used to want to be an astronomer. When I was a boy.”

Mark took a small step towards him. “My sister has talked of the same. When she is able to finish her schooling.”

Derian felt as if the air around him was growing hazy, as if the rest of the world was retreating into a fog. “A sister. You have spoken of more than one.”

“Yes, I have two.” He took another step closer. “Like you.”

“Like me…” Derian also stepped closer. “If the stars are not fixed, Mark, and if they may change, then permanence would be an illusion, wouldn’t it?”

“Isn’t it already, Highness?” Mark was so close, Derian could feel his breath. “Isn’t everything merely temporal. Time. Our lives.” He took another step and this time brushed his fingers against Derian’s. “The notes of a song.”

Derian’s breath was quick, in and out of his nose, and he felt as if he should run away but he wanted to stay. He could not make a decision, however, because as Mark tilted his head and closed his eyes, there were footfalls out on the garden steps.

Derian turned his head and stepped away and Mark bowed his head.

“Your Highness,” called one of his menservants. “The King seeks a word with you.”

Derian sighed heavily. He turned to Mark with an apology on his lips, but saw that Mark was already gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Mark lay in his bed.

It was long past midnight and he was wide awake. He lay upon a pallet of straw in a crowded room full of sleeping servants in Lord Dalston’s home. He had not been allowed to make his bed near the Prince. It was the rules of this household. It was not something Mark should have expected, but he wanted to just the same. He’d hoped the Prince would ask for him, but he did not.

Perhaps it was because of what happened out in the gardens…

Mark did not know precisely _what_ had happened. They’d been standing so close, and all Mark could feel was the sheer presence of the Prince and his sweet, soft breath on his lips. And Mark felt himself pulled closer and closer to Prince Derian - but Mark was sure he’d crossed the line. He’d certainly leaned forward and did he close his eyes as well? _Fool!_ Mark thought viciously. _What a fool you are! He is the crowned Prince of Cordesia! Certainly not for you. Never for you!_

But still…the night had been lovely and cloudless, sparkling stars, and handsome company. Mark only wished he’d gotten to serenade the Prince under those stars. He knew the perfect song for such an evening: “My Heart Weeps for Thee.” Mark had written it on a rainy afternoon in the village. He’d gone to see a healing woman for medicines for Nevill, and he’d been in low spirits after such a trying day. The song made him think of that cold, wet afternoon and how lonely he was. Certainly, he was not alone that day. His mother and siblings were all crowded around the hearth eating stew while Sabina gave Nevill some broth to drink.

Mark had wished for different company then. He’d hated thinking such, but he’d wished for the company of a handsome boy; to lie naked in bed with him and run his fingers through the boy’s hair. He yearned to be close to the boy and for the boy to love him. Mark pictured him in his mind’s eye and composed the verses within the hour and had the melody by nightfall. It was the quickest he’d ever written a song in his life, and he’d wanted to share it with the Prince that evening.

The Prince and the Prince alone.

But someone interrupted.

_A curse upon them,_ he thought, turning upon the uncomfortable pallet. But, really, what did it matter? Mark was so embarrassed by his actions, he ran away before the Prince or the intruder could see him making a fool of himself. He should not have taken such liberties and gotten so close to the Prince. Mark supposed it had been Prince Derian’s words; what he’d said about not wanting to be the King. Mark wondered for a moment what that must be like. He could not imagine not wanting to be wealthy and powerful. Mark thought if he had all the wealth and power of the crown, he’d give every sick child in the kingdom a personal physician and the best medicines available. He’d give everyone who wanted to learn music a place in a school. And he’d make sure every child knew his or her letters and could read and write.

It occurred to him that King Lucius had failed at these things. Mark sighed. He hoped Prince Derian did not govern like his father. Mark rolled onto his back and sighed again as he thought about the Prince’s soft brown eyes. Mark felt as if he could fall into them and never find his way out. And the Prince’s lips…Mark thought about nibbling and sucking on the Prince’s bottom lip at it’s most softest and plumpest point until the Prince was quivering with desire.

Mark’s heart pounded and his cock swelled. He looked around the room. Everyone was asleep and snoring. He wondered if he could touch himself without being noticed, but he was sure he couldn’t spend quietly. He huffed. His cock ached and his heart yearned. He covered himself with the blanket and tried a few strokes, but the fellow next to him stirred and Mark gave up. He soon fell into a fitful sleep filled with dreams of the Prince.

* * *

Rosebourgh was lovely in the summertime.

Up from the southern border came the scent of sea and sand. If Mark squinted, he could just make out the sea on the horizon. He knew that a few days by boat would take him to the Moviene Islands, the land of his people. Rosebourgh had been in a dispute with the Islands when Mark was a child. It was the reason his family chose to settle in Cordesia instead. Cordesians had historically been allies to Movienians. Rosebourgh not so much. Mark wondered what his father would think of him traveling to the kingdom now.

Before entering the Palace, Mark watched as Prince Derian was wrapped in a long cloak trimmed with sable. It trailed along behind him as the crown was placed on his head and he walked alongside his limping father to greet the King, Queen, and Princess. Mark felt a stray jab of envy. They were here so Derian could pay court to the Princess and play her a song. Mark hung his head - a song he taught the Prince.

Through the curious crowd, Mark caught the Prince’s eye. The Prince smiled at him warmly. Mark returned the smile. He was filled with such awe in that moment with how handsome the Prince was, but he was also saddened and jealous because he knew the Prince was far from his reach. They had not been alone again since that night at Lord Dalston’s. The Prince spoke pleasantly enough with Mark on the remainder of the journey, but Mark worried the Prince was wary of him now. He hadn’t even asked Mark for a quick lesson. He hoped the Prince was ready to play for the lady.

After all the royal greetings, there was a joust in the courtyard. Mark thought Prince Derian might compete, but instead the Prince watched from the royal box with Princess Matilde at his side. Mark kept casting longing glances their way, finding himself wishing it was him by the Prince’s side and not that blasted girl. Princess Matilde was pretty enough, he thought. She wore her veil long and it was quite elegant with gold threads and tiny diamonds on her headdress. She sparkled and smiled in the sunlight and Mark slumped and sighed in the benches with the servants. He probably wouldn’t get another word alone with the Prince for the remainder of their stay.

When Mark next glanced over at the Prince and Princess, he saw that Prince Derian was looking right at him. Mark nearly looked away, embarrassed, when he caught a small smile on the Prince’s lips. Mark smiled shyly in return. He saw the Prince lean towards Matilde and whisper something to her and he got up from the box, his attendants standing to follow him, but he held up his hand to them. Mark watched, puzzled, as the Prince left the royal box alone. He hoped Prince Derian wasn’t annoyed or insulted with his staring.

After a few minutes, Mark felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see the young man behind him - a fellow with a long nose and buck teeth - pointing to the fence. Mark tilted his head to look and saw Prince Derian standing there, beckoning him to come over. Mark quickly stood and went to the Prince, bowing as he drew closer.

“Yes, Your Highness?” He was practically out of breath; his heart was beating so fast. He was afraid to look into the Prince’s face for fear his foolishness would show.

“Mark, I’d like to ask a favor of you, if I may?” The Prince’s voice was gentle and sweet.

Mark lifted his eyes to see the Prince was smiling at him. It was almost shy. “Anything, Your Highness.”

“Will you come to me later this evening? I’d like to practice the song I will play for the Princess. To make sure I am prepared.”

Mark saw something in the Prince’s eyes just then. Something secretive. “Yes, of course, Your Highness.”

The Prince then took a step closer, and Mark had to hold himself still to keep from doing the same. “I’ve been wanting to ask you - in what village does your family live?”

Mark tilted his head, puzzled. “Robishaw, Highness. Why do you ask?”

The Prince bit his lip. “I hope you will not think it meddlesome of me, but I inquired about your siblings to one of my manservants.” His cheeks flushed a little. “It was late and I did not want to wake you, or I would have asked you myself. My manservant said he heard you have a brother that is ill. Is this so?”

Mark looked down at his feet, feeling his face grow warm, though he did not know why. “Yes. It is.”

The Prince hesitated for a moment, then looked at Mark earnestly. “I’d like to help him. I had an excellent physician in my household when I was growing up. He cared for me through all my childhood ailments. He could cure any illness and treat any little ache or pain.” The Prince looked down at his feet. “I was thinking…he could help your brother.”

A flutter of surprise went through Mark’s belly. “Your Highness…are you…are you sure? Robishaw is so far from the Palace. And wouldn’t you or your father need -”

“Please.” The Prince held up a hand. “It is no trouble at all.” He smiled so that his eyes looked like smooth stones warming in the sun. “I will see you later this evening.”

Mark watched in wide-eyed wonder as the Prince went back to the royal box. He grinned from ear to ear - Nevill! He would write home immediately. There was help for Nevill at last!

* * *

There was such ceremony when Prince Derian went to court Princess Matilde.

Mark found the whole thing dreary and quite boring. At the banquet the previous night, he was asked by the head musician of the Rosebourgh Palace to play for the royal court. Mark had happily obliged, watching the Prince from afar, hoping to catch his eye. But the Prince’s eyes were on Matilde. His hand was in hers as he led her from the tables to dance. Mark watched with partial delight and partial jealousy. He delighted in watching the Prince do anything, for he was very handsome and very skilled in the complicated steps of the dance. But he did not like watching him smile and take the hand of the Princess.

When Mark arrived to the Prince’s rooms yesterday, he was disappointed to see they were not alone. A couple of the Prince’s attendants were in the room, preparing the Prince for sleep as they turned down his bed, lit the candles, and started a fire with fresh wood. Mark ran through the song with the Prince a few times and saw that his royal pupil was quite ready. It was a simple song and only required the Prince know three chords. There were no verses or words. It had been a simple melody Mark had learned as a student. As the Prince played through the song several times perfectly, Mark began to wonder why he’d been asked to come.

The Prince had bid Mark a warm farewell and Mark had gone to bed, feeling fitful and anxious. He felt as if he’d left the Prince’s presence with something unfinished; words unsaid. He sighed with desire and clutched the pillow to his chest. _Kisses unkissed._

And now, Mark watched as the Prince went to pay court to Matilde, entering her rooms formally with the crown set in his auburn curls and his long cloak trailing behind him. An attendant lifted it so that Prince Derian could sit on a stool next to the Princess. Mark hadn’t thought he’d be asked to accompany the Prince today. Last night he’d wished His Highness luck with the song, bowed, and taken his leave. Then this morning, a royal page came to find Mark at breakfast and announced the Prince’s formal request. Mark immediately assented and went to change his doublet and hose to look his best for royal company. But now, as he stood in the Princess’s chambers, watching this act of courting unfold, Mark wished he’d declined. He couldn’t bear to watch Prince Derian take Matilde’s hand in his and kiss it with those sweet, rosy lips. Mark had almost kissed them. He wished so much he had. He wished so much he’d been able to feel them before the Princess.

Then the moment came. Prince Derian set the lute on his lap in the way Mark had taught him. He tuned it, although Mark knew the lute was already tuned and the Prince was doing it for show. Before he began to play, the Prince’s eyes scanned nervously through the group of attendants and both Kings standing in the corner, being served ale and fruit. Mark could see that King Lucius was pretending his talk with King Bowdyn was more important, but he was keeping one eye on his son. The Prince’s eyes finally fell on Mark. Mark could see the anxiety and the doubt, so Mark gave the Prince a reassuring nod and smile. The Prince smiled softly back, then began to play the song.

Everyone was hushed as if it were a banquet hall and there was a soloist singing through the gallery. They all watched the Golden Prince as he serenaded the young lady and behind her veil she looked downward, a coy smile on her lips. Mark felt a tightening under his ribs. A want bloomed inside him as the Prince played the song Mark had taught him perfectly. He bowed his lovely head and played with feeling, as if he were wooing the Princess through melody and harmony. Mark was torn. He was happy the Prince was playing so well in front of so many. It was a testament to his instruction. But Mark was also saddened because the Prince was playing to someone else, and rightfully so. Mark hung his head. What right did he have to wish for such things? He was the son of a sheep farmer. Why should he hope for anything more?

After the song was over, everyone applauded - everyone except Mark. He quickly turned and quietly left the chambers, trotting towards the servants quarters, foolish tears in his eyes.

* * *

There was a masque that evening.

The Great Hall was lit with large tapered candles and garlands of flowers hung from every window. Hangings of velvet and silk draped from the ceiling and wound around the columns. Cordesian wine was served with Rosebourgh venison and duck. Fresh fruits and cheeses were served with tart wine from the northern mountains and sweet, honeyed breads were served with steaming cups of posset. There was dancing and music. Clever disguises and elegant robes. And Mark watched it all high above the Great Hall in the musicians box, playing a whole set of merry tunes.

Mark wore a simple gold mask over his eyes like the other musicians. Down below, and in between measures, he watched the Prince dance with the Princess. Mark had found the Prince easily. His mask was a deep red over his eyes and nose. Glittering fabric was set upon the cheeks. The Princess wore a black mask over her eyes behind her veil. Her headdress was large and decorated with feathers and jewels. Any pretense that neither of them knew who the other one was seemed to not exist. Mark had been watching them dance together all night. And his jealousy grew with each step and turn they took.

During a break in the music, Mark watched the Prince go over to the refreshments and drink some wine with the Princess. Mark looked over at King Lucius, who laughed raucously with King Bowdyn and drank more ale. He wore a silver mask over his eyes, and underneath Mark could see the King’s cheeks glowing red with drunkenness. He was certainly having a merry time and kept casting pleased glances towards his son. Mark shook his head bitterly. It was a royal matchmaking if ever there was one: Prince Derian was destined to marry Princess Matilde. Mark could see it clearly now. How stupid he’d been to long for anything else.

A scullion came to the musicians box to serve them wine. Mark set down his lute and drank a full goblet and refilled it a second time. He couldn’t believe he’d thought of the Prince as anything other than a student. Even as Mark enjoyed his heated imaginings late at night while he touched himself, he was secretly hoping they would become real. He’d had a secret hope the Prince would ask Mark to come to his rooms at night and slip into his bed. But it was foolishness, Mark thought viciously. Princes were meant for Princesses and that was all. Anything else was unheard of. Impossible.

Mark felt warm and sweaty after finishing his third goblet of Cordesian wine. Soot from the candles hazed through the air and the scent of sweating, intoxicated bodies began to make Mark’s stomach churn and his head spin. He left the musician’s box and went outside. He breathed in the fresh, cool evening air. His stomach began to settle and his mind began to clear. He looked around him at the Rosebourgh Palace gardens. They were walled gardens with thick vines of ivy climbing over some of the arches. He made his way over and strolled through some of them, pausing to admire the shrubbery and flower beds in the moonlight. The fresh scent of earth made Mark think about his mother’s garden. He hoped the harvest would be adequate to feed his family. He reminded himself to send them more coins and perhaps anything of value from his purse; something they could sell for food in case the garden yield was not enough.

As Mark walked along thinking of his family, he remembered the Prince’s kind gesture to send Nevill his personal physician. Mark frowned. He wondered if he should allow that now. He did not want it to appear he was taking advantage of His Highness, nor did he want to take favors from a man who was as good as promised to a royal lady. It did not seem fair nor proper. Just as Mark was making up his mind to speak to the Prince about the matter, he heard footsteps behind him.

Startled, Mark turned to look. He saw a figure in a long cloak coming towards him. The figure paused in the shade of a tree, then stepped out into the moonlight. Mark saw the red, sparkling mask as the Prince pulled it up to rest on his head.

“There you are!” The Prince called with a smile. As he drew closer, Mark could see his brown eyes were dancing, his cheeks were flushed, and he swayed a little in his step. “I was looking all over the gallery for you.”

“Were you, Highness?” Mark said hopefully.

“Why yes.” The Prince stood in front of him. “I was hoping you could play your song again. The Princess mentioned how she liked to hear it once more, and I would like to as well.” Prince Derian grinned. “Will you play it for me, Mark?” His voice was soft with a hint of something.

Mark looked sadly down at his feet. “I do not know if I can play for you, Your Highness.”

The Prince looked puzzled. “Why ever not?”

Perhaps it was the Cordesian wine, the balmy air, the sweet scents from the gardens - Mark was not sure - but whatever it was, it prompted Mark to speak before could stop himself. “Because I long for more than just to play for you, Highness.” He pressed his lips together after he said it, fearful and regretful.

The Prince said nothing for a few moments, then: “For more…what more do you mean, Mark?”

“Don’t you know, Highness,” Mark breathed. “Can’t you see it? Can’t you feel it?”

The Prince’s eyes widened, his lips parted. “Mark…”

Before Mark could change his mind and run off like a coward once more, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against the Prince’s. The Prince’s lips were soft and silky. Mark felt him take a quick breath of surprise, then Mark pressed his lips against the Prince’s once more, bring his hands up to hold the Prince’s face. For a moment, the Prince seemed too stunned to do anything and Mark feared in that moment the Prince might push him away. But then the Prince began to kiss him back, tilting his head, his soft lips studying Mark’s in gentle strokes.

Then it became heated.

Mark felt the Prince’s arms around him, pulling him close. Mark pushed his tongue into the Prince’s mouth where he tasted of wine and honey. Mark kissed him hungrily, the Prince responding in turn. Before Mark could have another thought, the Prince pulled him into the bench by the garden wall. He cupped Mark’s chin, tilting his head, his tongue probing into Mark's mouth. Mark let out a moan in the back of his throat and felt the Prince inhale sharply through his nose. He gently bit at Mark’s bottom lip. Mark groaned again and kissed the corner of the Prince’s lips, his cheeks, along the smooth line of his jaw.

“Oh, Your Highness…,” Mark sighed into his neck, leaving a trail of kisses.

“Mark…,” the Prince sighed in kind.

“I have wanted this so,” Mark admitted in between kisses. “I have wanted to kiss you for so long.”

“And so have I.” The Prince gently took Mark’s face in his hands and lifted Mark’s eyes to his. “Oh, Mark. I did not know if you felt the same way.”

“I was worried over the same.” Mark leaned in for another kiss, but the Prince pulled back.

“Come to my rooms tonight, Mark.” The Prince’s gaze was heated and lusty. “Please say you will.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mark replied, returning the very same gaze. “I will come to you with haste.”


	7. Chapter 7

Derian paced in front of the fireplace.

_I am mad. Simply mad!_

He paced and paced, his ears on alert for a knock at his chamber door. Derian still felt a bit unsteady on his feet after drinking so much wine, but he’d been thinking perfectly clear when he invited Mark to his rooms. Derian wasn’t sure what he would even do, what he would even say. The request had been impulsive, and that kiss…

_Oh! Such a kiss_ …Derian stopped his pacing and closed his eyes. He’d always dreamed of being kissed like that. Only, he’d never imagined it would be from another young man. Mark’s lips had been delicious, just perfect, and Derian was dying to feel them again. Again and again. His cock twitched in his breeches as he thought of Mark kissing him like that repeatedly, lying in bed, and stripping him of his clothes. Derian moaned softly to himself. He felt as if something inside him had been long asleep and was now awakening.

Derian heard a knock and turned to his chamber door. He took a deep breath and unlatched it to find Mark standing there, an easy smile on his lips.

Derian suddenly felt almost paralyzed with nerves. “Mark…”

“Hello, Your Highness.”

Derian held the door open and let Mark inside. Derian shut and latched the door and stood in front of it. Mark looked around at all the rich decor. King Bowdyn spared no expense when it came to furnishing his Palace. There were garlands of flowers hung around the windows that were made anew every couple of days. Tapestries detailing the long history of Rosebourgh lined every wall. And the Omans rugs on the stone floors were soft and warm against cold feet.

And Derian knew his feet were growing cold.

Why had he asked Mark here? It was dangerous. A risk. Derian stood stock-still as Mark approached him, his face close, his eyes like a serene green meadow. “I came as quick as I could, Your Highness.”

With Mark close like this, Derian felt himself warm from head to toe. Of knowing he merely needed only to take one step forward and he could press his lips to Mark’s. “I am glad.” He spoke quietly, even though he’d dismissed his attendants and they were completely alone.

“Are you?” Mark had a playful smile. He took one small step forward, his face a mere few inches from Derian’s.

“Indeed, Mark,” Derian breathed. “Indeed.” Before he could think about it too much, he leaned forward and kissed him.

Mark kissed him back. It was sweet and slow and Mark lifted one hand to tenderly stroke Derian’s cheek. The gesture caught Derian off-guard and he pulled away.

“Have I done something wrong, Highness?” Mark asked worriedly.

Derian stared into Mark’s lovely eyes. _No. Not wrong. But perhaps…a little bit…_ “No, Mark. I only…you see, I am not used to…” The Prince trailed off as he thought of how to answer. Certainly, he was not used to being touched and not touched in such a tender way. But Mark would think him strange if he admitted that.

Mark began to kiss his right cheek, sweet little pecks with his soft lips, and then Derian’s left cheek. “Not used to what, Highness?” Mark stopped by Derian’s ear and whispered. “Not used to the lips of another man?”

Mark’s tone sent a surge of heated lust straight to Derian’s prick. Derian let out a soft groan. _Another man._ Yes. That was what it was. The feel of another man’s fingers upon his skin, another man’s lips, his breath, and the deep rumble of his voice in Derian’s ear. Yes, yes. He wrapped his arms around Mark’s waist and pulled him close. He could feel the hardening of Mark’s cock against him. Derian groaned again and traced his lips over the hard line of Mark’s neck. “Put your arms around me.”

Mark did as Derian asked. He slipped his arms under Derian’s, slid his hands up his back, and gripped his shoulders, giving them a tight squeeze. Derian moaned into Mark’s neck.

“Like this, Highness?” Mark’s breath was warm in Derian’s ear. “Shall I…hold you tighter?” He pulled Derian closer and Derian could feel their hard cocks under their breeches. His ached to be touched. He needed it, wanted it. Then he realized what he would be doing. What he would be revealing. He broke their embrace and stepped away.

Mark blinked in surprise and concern. “Did I hurt you, Highness?”

Derian shook his head. He cast his eyes down, feeling his cheeks flame. “It is not that, Mark.”

Mark waited for Derian to say more. When he did not, he tilted his head down to catch Derian’s eye. “Then what?”

“I am, er…I have not…,” Derian could hardly keep his voice up or look Mark in the face. “That is, I have not lain with woman nor man before. I am, er…I am a…virgin.” Derian said the last word as if it were a curse.

Mark said nothing for a minute. Then Derian felt his hand upon his shoulder and felt his jade eyes on his reddening cheeks. “Then you must allow me, Highness,” he placed a finger under Derian’s chin and tilted it up, “to instruct you.”

Derian felt a delightful shiver run through him.

Mark slid his hand around Derian’s neck and leaned close, his lips a breath from Derian’s ear. “Will you let me, Your Highness?”

“Yes,” Derian replied. “Please teach me, Mark.”

With a sigh, Derian felt Mark’s lips against his earlobe, and then Mark’s hands roaming up his stomach as Mark began to remove his doublet. Slowly, Derian moved backwards toward the bed as Mark undressed him and with shaking hands he undressed Mark. Derian blushed as his fingers became a nervous tangle in the ties of Mark’s breeches. But Mark smiled and gently guided Derian’s hands until the ties were undone, and Mark’s breeches slipped off his hips to the floor. Derian blushed once more, a heated pulse in his veins, at the sight of Mark’s cock, springing up hard towards his belly.

Derian sat back on the bed, still wearing his own breeches and feeling his own prick strain against the fabric. His heart began to pound at the sight of Mark’s naked form. His smooth skin and lean muscles. A light dusting of hair on his chest. A delicious thatch of dark hairs running from Mark’s navel to his large prick. Strong legs, narrow hips, and his cock…Derian involuntarily licked his lips at the sight of Mark’s foreskin pulled away and the tip moist with his creamy dew.

Mark smiled softly, a slight flush on his skin. “It is satisfactory for you, Highness?”

Derian dragged his gaze from Mark’s cock to his face. “Yes, quite satisfactory. Quite satisfactory indeed.”

Chuckling, Mark got into the bed, positioning Derian on his back, “Even in a lusty state, His Highness displays the greatest politeness.”

Derian felt Mark’s cock poking his thigh. Derian watched Mark’s jade eyes as his fingers began to undo the ties of his breeches. “Should - should I not be polite?”

Mark grinned. “You must be as you wish, Highness.”

Derian didn’t know to be, where to put his hands, what he should be doing at all. Mark pulled his breeches down, revealing his arousal. Derian’s cock flopped against his belly, swollen and aching. He suddenly felt a wave of self-consciousness and reached down to cover himself, but Mark took his hands away.

Mark stroked the juncture of Derian’s leg and torso with his fingers. “Do you remember, Highness, what I taught you at our first lesson?”

Derian closed his eyes, the soft touch of Mark’s fingers making his skin sing. “To play the lute.”

“But at first,” Mark’s voice came closer to his ear, “I taught you the body.”

Derian felt another delightful shiver as Mark’s lips touched under his ear.

“Remember…the neck…,” Mark whispered, his lips tracing a soft, teasing tickle around the circumference of Derian’s neck that made Derian moan. Mark’s kisses roamed over Derian’s chest and he felt Mark’s heated breaths paused over his nipple. “The pegs to tune the strings.” A warm wetness darted over Derian’s tightened bud, making his eyes fling open and his cock harden painfully. He groaned at the feel of Mark’s tongue, the very tip tracing circles around each of his nipples, the warm breath from his nose gliding over his skin. Mark moved his head down, kissing a path over Derian’s abdomen. “The ribs.” Mark took a tiny pinch of Derian’s skin in his teeth, making Derian yelp. Derian felt Mark’s warm breath and soft lips continue a trail over his stomach and around his cock, the warmth of Mark’s body hovering, making Derian so painfully hard he feared he would burst any second.

Mark lifted his head and Derian looked down at him. He held himself up by one arm, while he used the other to caress Derian’s inner thigh. “And do you remember the other parts, Highness?”

In that moment, Derian didn’t remember damn near anything. All he could think about was how close Mark was to his cock and how badly he wanted him to touch it. “Please do not tease me, Mark.” Derian practically whined.

Mark grinned devilishly. “Very well, Your Highness.” He grasped Derian’s cock in one hand and Derian gasped. “The strings.” Mark dragged his tongue along the length of Derian’s cock from root to tip, making Derian cry out. “And,” Mark slipped a finger between Derian’s legs. “The rose.” Mark brushed Derian’s opening with his fingertip, creating another wave of desire in Derian - but this time the feeling had a newness to it. Derian had touched his own cock plenty of times before, but never had he considered sliding a finger inside himself. Sudden, heated imaginings sprang into his mind. He’d seen the stallions with the mares at his household when he was a boy. The way the stallion mounted the mare, taking her, fucking her. He began to think of himself that way - being mounted, taken, and fucked.

Mounted, taken, and fucked by Mark.

Derian groaned as he felt Mark’s calloused fingers enclose around his cock and begin to stroke. Mark lay beside him and whispered in his ear. “And you learned to finger the strings, to stroke them, and pluck them, to get the sounds that you wished.” He squeezed, thumb gliding over Derian’s leaking tip, creating such a sound from Derian that Derian couldn’t believe it was coming out of him. He jutted his hips upwards into Mark’s hand, dying for release, and knowing it would come far too soon. Derian grit his teeth as Mark pumped his cock with his warm, slick hand and slipped his leg over Derian’s, placing light kisses on his cheek and shoulder.

“Does this please you, Highness?” His breathy whisper made Derian’s head spin.

“Yes. Yes! Oh!” Derian turned his head, his lips touching Mark’s. His hips jerked and a loud cry erupted as he spent thick spurts of cream all over his stomach and Mark’s hand.

Mark whimpered softly into his ear, milking Derian’s cock though his climax. Derian’s hips slowed and his cock softened as his peak ebbed. He lay still, limbs heavy, his breath coming in shallow pants. He closed his eyes and felt Mark’s head against his, a soft sigh over his cheek. After a handful of heartbeats, he felt Mark move, sliding down the side of his body. Derian opened his eyes to see Mark’s tongue slip between his lips and lick up Derian’s spendings on his stomach.

“Oh…dear God…” Derian’s voice shook.

Mark flicked his enchanting eyes upwards to Derian’s as he cleaned Derian’s chest of his seed with his lascivious tongue.

Derian suddenly felt an instinct, a desire like no other shoot into him like a dart. He rolled Mark over onto his back in a flash, positioning himself over him. He looked down to see the lustful surprise in Mark’s eyes. He leaned down to kiss him, deeply, tasting the last vestiges of his seed in Mark’s mouth. He could feel Mark’s hard cock, poking and dripping against his belly.

“The neck,” Derian said, peppering his skin with lusty kisses. “The pegs.” Derian lapped at Mark’s nipples in wet, sloppy licks and then sucked each one until they were firm and sharp between his lips. Mark cried out, squirming beneath him. “Ribs.” Derian nibbled the tender skin there, until a thin stream leaked from Mark’s cock all over his belly.

“Oh, Your Highness…Your Highness, please…” Mark begged.

Derian’s arms shook with a thrill and a lust he’d never felt as he caressed Mark’s cock. “The strings.” Then he placed two fingers at Mark’s entrance. “The rose.”

Mark squirmed some more beneath him, biting his lip, and, hand shaking, Derian wrapped it around Mark’s cock. He used the drippings from Mark’s slit to slick his hand as he stroked up and down, hoping he was doing it right. The sounds emitting from Mark seemed to confirm that he was. He ran his hand along Mark’s cock from root to tip, using his thumb on Mark’s slit as Mark had done. The feel of Mark’s prick in his hand, Mark’s cries of pleasure, made Derian’s cock harden as if he hadn’t come at all.

Derian quickened his pace and felt Mark turn beneath him, placing him on their sides so they were face to face. Mark reached down and grasped Derian’s hard, sensitive cock once more, matching Derian’s pace. Derian couldn’t believe he was ready to spend again. The feel of another man’s cock in his hand, another man’s body against him, drove him nearly mad. Derian turned his head and bit into the fabric of the pillow as he came again and felt Mark’s hips buck as he cried out. Derian felt liquid heat all over his hand and belly as Mark’s spendings spilled on his skin. Derian milked Mark’s release, as Mark had done to him, his heart pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer. Derian took quick, shallow breaths, resting his sweaty head against Mark’s. He felt Mark’s arms wrap around him and Derian responded in kind.

Oh, Derian had never felt anything like this. The strong arms of another man, the hair of his chest. Derian marveled at the hard planes of Mark’s torso covered in his seed. The rippling muscle of his back and the way it moved under his palms. His hands rubbed over a thin sheen of sweat on Mark’s lower back as he reached down to hold Mark’s arse. Mark groaned and rolled on top of him. Derian couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t stop touching the boy.

“Your Highness…” Mark kissed Derian’s neck. He kissed his collarbone and traced the tip of his tongue along the bone to his shoulders.

Derian’s heart pounded as he reached down to touch Mark’s arse again, the cheeks round and tight and perfect. He was surprised to feel the corners of his eyes grow wet at all the sensations, of being touched so tenderly and wantonly. Everyone had been afraid to touch the Prince of Cordesia, but Mark was not. “Oh, Mark,” he said shakily. “Mark…”

Mark looked down at him his eyes soft and kind. “Are you all right, Highness?”

Derian nodded slowly. He stroked Mark’s face tenderly. “I am perfectly all right. The best that I have ever been.”

Mark reached down to stroke his face in turn and to kiss him, his lips colliding against Derian’s softly, sweetly. “So am I, Highness,” Mark whispered against Derian’s lips. “So am I.”

* * *

Derian was light-hearted and smiling as he rode with Princess Matilde the next afternoon. They rode through the countryside at a slow pace, their attendants riding along behind them, and to anyone watching, it seemed as if Prince Derian of Cordesia was much taken with Princess Matilde of Rosebourgh.

Derian was glad. It was a convenient ruse. His father was pleased. King Bowdyn was pleased. Princess Matilde was clearly blushing behind her veil each time Derian cast a smile her way. But his smile and attentiveness came from thoughts of Mark and Mark alone. When they went out riding that afternoon, every so often Derian would glance behind him at his attendants and see Mark among them, his lute strapped onto his back, just in case the royal party would like an impromptu serenade.

Having Mark so near was the reason Derian could even stand the long afternoon of riding, then a restful picnic by the Lakes of Rosebourgh. While Derian listened to Matilde’s chatter, he was able to smile because he had thoughts of Mark’s lips upon his body. Derian was able to take Matilde’s dainty little hand and press a kiss to it only because he was thinking about how Mark had kissed his fingers the night before. Derian could be patient all day long and endure the time he spent with Matilde under his father’s ever-watchful eyes only because of whom he’d been with the night before.

At the banquet that evening, everyone in King Bowdyn’s party was in such high spirits. The visit was going well and already people were commenting on what it would be like to see the Prince of Cordesia wed to the Princess of Rosebourgh. Derian hardly paid the comments any mind. He looked around for Mark, but as the banquet was formal, Mark was seated far away from him with the servants. Derian looked for opportunities to get away from the royal table to speak with him, but Matilde and Bowdyn had him occupied with conversation.

At long last, when the dancing began, Derian made his excuse only to find the servant’s area empty and the musicians were in the gallery playing. Before Derian could wonder if he dared to go up to the musician’s box to speak with Mark, Matilde led him out for a dance. Derian spent the entire evening dancing with Matilde and impressing King Bowdyn. The chore of it made Derian weary.

As the evening wore down and it was time for the royals to take to their beds, Derian was watched by about a dozen of Matilde’s attendants as he wished her a goodnight. It was the last night he and his father were spending in Rosebourgh. There was an expectancy in those gathered. As if Derian might sneakily pull aside Matilde’s veil and kiss her lips. But Derian would not dare do something so improper. Instead, he placed a small kiss to the back of her hand and wished her a restful slumber. Behind her veil, he could see a bit of disappointment in her eyes. Derian did not have the capacity to feel guilty about it.

Derian was escorted to his rooms by his attendants. Once inside, they began to prepare him for bed. They set a fire in the fireplace, turned down the bed, and helped him get undressed. After, Derian dismissed them all except for one - a gentleman by the name of Archerd. He’d attended upon Derian since Derian was a boy. He was pliable, shy, and there were rumors he’d lost his wife to blood poisoning. Out of all of Derian’s attendants, he trusted Archerd the most.

After Archerd lay fresh herbs on the fire and turned to take his leave, Derian stopped him. “Pray, stay for a moment please. There is a favor I must ask of you.”

Archerd’s amber eyes blinked in surprise. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Might you go to the servant’s chambers and fetch the musician, Mark Wolcott, for me? I’ve a mind for music and would like him to play for me.”

Archerd arched a bushy eyebrow. “At this hour, Your Grace?”

Derian stiffened. “It is not so late.” It was nearly midnight. “And I am wound up from the dancing. The music will calm me.” Derian went to sit by the fire. “Please go at once, Archerd, before the lad is asleep.”

Archerd gave Derian a strange look and bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”

After he departed, Derian stood and began to pace in front of the fireplace as he’d done the previous night. Mark had left him early that morning before Derian’s attendants arrived to dress him. And Derian hadn’t been able to speak with Mark alone for the entire day. He’d been surrounded and occupied, so he wasn’t able to arrange for Mark to come to his rooms. He hoped Archerd would find Mark and Mark would come. Derian had been worried that Mark might think of last night as a mistake and he would not see him again. But when he would turn to see Mark riding behind him and Matilde, the look in Mark’s eyes erased all doubt.

After several minutes of pacing, Derian finally heard a soft knocking on his door. Before Derian could open it, Archerd came in with Mark behind him. Mark carried his lute.

Archerd bowed his head. “Mark Wolcott, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Archerd,” Derian replied, keeping his eyes on Mark’s lips. “You may leave us.”

Archerd looked from Derian to Mark, bowed his head once more, then took his leave.

It was all Derian could do to wait patiently until the door was closed and stride across the room to Mark. Derian reached out to embrace Mark, but Mark stepped away with a smirk.

“But, Your Highness,” Mark teased. “I thought you wanted music.”

Derian smirked in return. “I want your touch.” He took the lute from Mark and set it down. “And to stay the night with me. Tell me that you will.”

Mark grinned and then a flicker of doubt went through his features. “But what of the Princess and the day you have spent with her?”

“What of it?”

Mark bit his lip. “It seemed that you enjoyed your time together.”

“I did not enjoy it.” Derian clutched Mark’s arms. “I was thinking of you, and what we did last night. It was the only way I could get through the afternoon.”

“Really, Your Highness?”

“Yes, really.” Derian pulled Mark into his arms. “And, please, Mark, when we are alone together, you must call me Derian.”

Mark slipped his arms around Derian’s waist. “Derian,” he whispered. “Yes, Derian, I will spend the night with you.”

Derian smiled and leaned forward. “Then kiss me now, Mark, for I have thought of nothing else all day.”

And Mark did so, falling into Derian’s arms, his lips finding Derian’s, his kiss deep and searching. Derian caressed Mark’s tongue with his own, then pulled away to nip gently at his bottom lip. Derian saw Mark’s jade eyes dilate with lust.

Quickly, Derian led Mark to his bed, leaving the curtains open just enough to let in the glow of the fire and tall candles on the bedside table. The way the light lit up Mark’s face nearly took Derian’s breath away. He climbed inside the bed, laying on his side, beckoning Mark to join him.

Mark began to undress first, and Derian propped himself up on his knees to help, removing Mark’s doublet, breeches, undershirt, and hose.

“Too many clothes,” Derian mumbled impatiently. “Why must you walk about wearing thus? When your nakedness is far more preferable?”

Mark smiled and reached for Derian’s nightshirt. “I have wondered the same about you, High - Derian. My Naked Prince.”

Derian laughed. “Not the Golden Prince, but the Naked Prince.” He pulled a naked Mark into his bed over top of him as he lay back on the fur-covered doublet. “And you can be my Naked Lute Player.”

“With pleasure,” Mark murmured, leaning over Derian to kiss him. Derian concentrated on the way Mark’s lips moved against his own, letting his hands wander over the skin of Mark’s chest and shoulders, feeling Mark’s muscle’s tighten as he held himself up.

Derian sighed into the kiss, pulling Mark closer, closer, until Mark positioned himself between Derian’s legs. Derian broke the kiss and looked down his body to see Mark’s hard and throbbing cock close to his own. Derian began to imagine Mark’s cock inside him again. Like a wild stallion claiming a mare. Derian bit his lip. He’d heard whisperings of such acts in his household; of how two men together could make love as man and wife. Derian felt a strange yearning and tingling at his entrance; a feeling of want inside him he’d never felt before.

Derian licked his lips and reached down, but Mark gently took his hand. “Allow me.” Mark planted a kiss on Derian’s knuckles, then reached down between them. Mark positioned their cocks so that they were touching and Derian’s prick immediately twitched and hardened to stone at the sensation.

“Ohhh,” Derian breathed as Mark began to rut his hips against him. “Oh, Mark…”

Mark moved his hips and their cocks slid together, using the moisture from their dewy tips. Derian looked up at Mark’s face above his, his eyes fluttering in the pleasure he created for them both. Derian moved his hips in time with Mark’s, and then he groaned and reached down to grab Mark’s arse, demanding he rut harder and faster as his own climax began to build. Mark placed his arms on either side of Derian’s head and Derian lifted his head to kiss him with hungry, sloppy kisses as the feeling of his cock against Mark’s cock drove him over the edge. Derian let out a cry as his climax surged through him. His back arched, his hips jutting into Mark’s, his spendings spilling all over his stomach. Mark let go, too, and Derian felt the warm pulses of his seed covering his stomach and chest. Derian reached down to stroke Mark’s cock, milking his release, as Mark trembled above him.

After Mark had spent, Derian released his cock and looked up at Mark gazing down at him. Mark was panting and there was sweat upon his brow. Derian looked down at his chest covered in both of their cream. He watched as Mark leaned back, dipped his head, and looked Derian right in the eye as he dragged his tongue up Derian’s stomach, licking up their seed as he’d done last night.

Derian shivered, his head spinning, as he watched Mark clean him off with warm, wet laps of his tongue. He slipped his fingers into Mark’s hair with a deep groan and pulled his face to his own, kissing him, his tongue tasting them both in Mark’s mouth. And as Derian kissed him, over and over, wrapping his arms and legs around this handsome lute player, Derian knew he was in danger.

In absolute and complete danger of falling for this boy. Of wanting and needing this boy. Of giving his heart away to this boy.

And of putting his birthright, his position, and his crown in a precarious place for this boy.


	8. Chapter 8

Mark waited with baited breath on his straw pallet for the summons that would surely come.

On their journey back to the Cordesian Palace, they rested at Lord Dalston’s once again. The way from Rosebourgh to Lord Dalston’s estate had passed by Mark in a haze. He couldn’t say where they’d been, what the countryside had looked like, or what songs he’d been asked to play. For the only thing on his mind, the only sight he could see, was the handsome face of the Prince.

Mark closed his eyes and let himself indulge in imaginings of what they might do that night under the stuffy Lord’s roof. He and the Prince had hardly been alone since leaving Rosebourgh. Prince Derian was always surrounded. His attendants and his father were always with him, keeping his attention. But Mark did not let it worry him. He knew that in the quiet of the night, in a warm bed, he would have the attention of the Prince of Cordesia soon enough.

And Mark was no fool. He knew that this thrilling interlude was only temporary. It pained him to think it so, but he’d seen the Prince with the King of Rosebourgh and his blasted daughter. The only thing that gave Mark even the slightest sliver of hope was what Derian told him in the gardens when they were last here - that he did not want to be King. Mark could not begin to think of what that might mean. He’d never known a Prince to think such things, but then again, Mark hadn’t met many Princes. The royal family of the Moviene Islands seemed content with their duties. It was difficult for Mark to ponder Prince Derian felt otherwise.

And so this was what it would be: he would be the Prince’s secret lover until the Prince had to marry. Or however long the Prince wanted him. It could end tomorrow. That very night. Most certainly when the Prince took his vows. And Mark must prepare himself for that day. He’d heard all the murmurings among the servants and knew Prince Derian and Princess Matilde were bound to be betrothed as soon as their fathers ironed out all the details. He must be ready. He must guard his heart, for the Prince would soon give his to another - even if it was only symbolic. Mark did not want to think about what the punishment would be for buggering a married Prince. An unmarried Prince was scandalous enough, but if his wife were to catch them…

No, Mark would not harm Prince Derian’s reputation that way. He would not put him at risk. Even so, Mark’s heart and cock ached for him as he turned impatiently over and over on the uncomfortable pallet. This was the only chance he would have before Prince Derian was taken from him for good and he would be careful. He would not be careless and let them be caught.

At long last, Mark heard a soft tap at the door. A few servants roused from sleep to see who it was. Mark sat up to see the same attendant from before, Archerd, making his way over.

Archerd stared down at him sternly. “Mark Wolcott, His Grace, Prince Derian wishes -”

Before Archerd could finish, Mark flung off his covers and stood. He snatched his lute with a smile. “Gladly!”

Archerd eyed him, brows raised slightly that Mark was not in his nightshirt and still fully clothed. “Come along then.”

Mark eagerly followed Archerd through the servant’s passages to the Prince’s rooms. Mark memorized the complex turns and stairways just in case he wanted to come alone before they departed. When Archerd brushed aside a tapestry to let Mark inside, Mark nearly forgot himself and the pretense he’d come to play for the Prince. He spotted Derian standing by the fireplace, wrapped in an elegant robe that trailed behind him. When he turned, the firelight caught the sweet amber colors of his hair, giving Mark a sight so tempting, so lovely, he nearly tripped over his own two feet.

Derian looked past him. “That is all, Archerd. Thank you. You may leave us.”

Mark waited until he heard the tapestry fall back into place before he set his lute in a chair and strode forward right into Derian’s waiting arms. He met Derian’s hungry kiss with equal fervor, slipping his tongue into his eager mouth. His arms snaked around Derian’s shoulders, rubbing his hard cock against Derian’s hip.

Mark could hardly stand it. He began to undress in between the eager kisses Derian planted on his lips, his cheeks, his neck. Mark reached for the ties of Derian’s robe and undid them to find Derian was completely nude underneath, and his cock hard and wanting sprang forth. Mark groaned with want and fell to his knees. His breeches were only pulled down one hip and his undershirt hung off one arm, but he cared not. He could only think of taking Prince Derian’s glorious cock in his mouth.

He gazed up at the Prince’s deep brown eyes. He gave Mark a look of surprise and confusion.

“Let me suck your cock, Highness,” Mark begged. “I want to swallow your spend, all of it. Please let me.”

Derian’s eyes darkened with lust as he blinked with wide-eyed surprise. A redness crept over the skin of his neck, and then his eyelids fluttered. “Oh, Mark, yes. _Yes._ ”

Mark had to restrain himself a little. It would be the first time the Prince of Cordesia had his cock sucked and Mark wanted it to be special for him. He carefully grasped the base and ran his tongue all along the tip as if he were licking the honey from a comb. He felt Derian’s legs shaking and Mark reached behind him to grasp his arse and hold him up. He closed his lips over Derian’s cock and slowly, inch by inch, took him into his mouth. Derian groaned so loudly that Mark’s cock twitched and swelled in response. Mark could feel the blood throbbing in the veins of Derian’s cock as he slid it in and out of his mouth. He breathed in the Prince’s musky essence through his nose. He lapped at the underside with his tongue, drawing little circles around the slit. He sucked hard and felt Derian’s fingers touching his hollowing cheeks in soft, encouraging brushes.

Mark gave out a throaty moan, sending a vibration through Derian’s cock to this balls. He took one hand away from his arse to massage them while he sucked. Derian’s hips began to move with the rhythm of Mark’s head. He felt Derian’s hands grasp his hair and tug as he let the Prince fuck his mouth. Derian’s cries became louder, quicker, and Mark closed his eyes as he felt Derian’s balls draw tight, his cock twitch, and his sweet cream filled Mark’s mouth in long, hot pulses. Mark eagerly drank it down, letting the Prince’s sweet, salty musk fill his senses. Derian’s legs trembled, his knees buckled, but Mark held him up, drinking and sucking down every last drop the Prince fed him.

The Prince gave out a heavy sigh as the last of his seed spurted onto Mark’s tongue. Mark sucked gently, cleaning off each drop, until Derian’s cock went soft and Mark released him. Derian tilted forward as if he might swoon, and Mark quickly stood to hold him up. “Have I pleased you so, Highness?”

“Derian,” he muttered. “I am Derian to you, and oh, Mark, you have. So much you have pleased me.” His lips found Mark’s and his tongue probed into Mark’s mouth, thirsting for his taste.

Within a handful of sloppy kisses and several steps, Mark felt his back brush the bed curtains. He tried to part them with one hand as he removed Derian’s robe with the other. Derian pushed his breeches down and removed his undershirt so they were both naked when they fell upon the cozy bed in a kissing, panting heap. Mark was underneath Derian and he slowed their kisses, wanting draw out this exquisite pleasure as much as he could. He let his hands wander along Derian’s broad shoulders, the smooth rippling muscle of his back, and down to his plump and round arse. Mark squeezed and gently rubbed his fingertips over his skin until he felt it prickle with goosebumps.

Derian groaned into his mouth. He pulled away slightly. “You are not afraid to touch me.”

“Of course not,” Mark whispered, letting his fingers trace the soft bumps of Derian’s spine. “Why would I be afraid? You are true and lovely to behold, my dear Prince.” Mark saw a hint of sadness in the Prince’s eyes. “Have I said something wrong?”

“No,” Derian quickly replied. “Nothing wrong. Nothing wrong at all.”

Mark’s heart jumped in his chest. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so bold as to call the Prince his dear. It was not true and it would never be, but here in Derian’s arms he could not help but to long for it. He sank into the coverlet under Derian’s weight as if he were melting, tangling their legs, and holding him tightly as they kissed repeatedly. He didn’t know if he could control any words that might come out of his mouth.

Unless he let the Prince keep putting his cock in it.

Derian kissed down Mark’s chest. His lips latched onto Mark’s nipple and he began to suck. Mark felt a jolt straight to his cock as he arched his back and moaned. Derian sucked the other nipple until they were both hardened, wet nubs. Mark whimpered softly as Derian kissed down his belly, then paused at Mark’s navel. Mark looked down to see Derian watching his face warily.

“What is it?” Mark asked.

Derian’s face flushed red. “I want to suck your cock. To…swallow you, like you did for me. But…I’m afraid I’ll do it wrong.”

Mark’s entire body went taut at the sound of the handsome and proper Prince of Cordesia saying _cock._ He placed a reassuring hand over Derian’s cheek. “You do not have to do it in return. It is not necessary.”

“But I want to. I want to taste you, feel you. Drink you.”

Mark felt a shiver of delight at Derian’s words. He closed his eyes. “Then do as you wish.”

Mark felt Derian’s lips return to his stomach. He felt Derian kiss down the trail of hair between his navel and crotch. His cock strained and swelled as he felt the heat of Derian’s neck hovering over it. He felt Derian’s fingertips gently coax back his foreskin and graze the sensitive tip. Mark hummed with pleasure at the anticipation. After a moment or so, he felt Derian’s quivering lips tentatively touch the tip of his cock. Mark moaned in encouragement. A second later he felt Derian’s tongue lick away the leaking dew from his slit. Mark moaned again as Derian’s lips slipped around his cock, tongue lapping like a pup at his water dish. Derian let out a soft sigh as his lips wrapped around Mark’s cock more assuredly, taking him in slowly, getting a feel for him.

Mark groaned at the sensation of Derian’s warm, wet mouth. It was all he could do not to grab Derian’s auburn curls and shove his cock inside to the hilt. Derian gently sucked and nursed at the tip until Mark was throbbing, his skin prickling with sweat. Mark thought the Prince had no idea how well he teased for someone so inexperienced. Then, in one sudden movement, Mark felt the Prince take him in fully, his prick completely engulfed in Derian’s hot mouth. Mark cried out and slipped his shaking fingers into Derian’s hair. Derian made a sound of pleasure deep in his throat as he began to suck, unsure at first, then eagerly. Wantonly. The carnal sounds of Derian’s wet mouth upon Mark’s prick and his bobbing head made Mark groan even louder. Had the Prince never really sucked a cock before? Mark couldn’t believe it was completely true as Derian sucked and licked as if his very life depended on it.

Mark tugged at Derian’s hair and in response Derian sucked harder, bobbing his head faster, taking Mark in deeper. Mark opened his eyes and was entranced watching the Prince of Cordesia suck his cock like a common whore, eyelashes fanned against his flushed cheeks, his lips glistening red and stretched. Mark reached down to touch them, partially from sheer desire and partially from disbelief. When he did so, Derian looked up, his eyes a deep and dusky brown. Mark held his gaze until he reached his edge, his eyes squeezing shut as he spent in Derian’s sweet, hot mouth.

Derian made a sound of surprise. Then a sound of pleasure as he tried to swallow all of Mark’s seed. But Mark was spurting so much that Derian pulled off his cock, a white, creamy string clinging to his bottom lip, as Mark finished on Derian’s neck and chest. As his release faded, Mark stared at the mess he’d made of the elegant Prince, some of his spendings dripping down his royal throat. The Prince licked at his bottom lip and Mark groaned.

“Oh, God…Derian…”

Derian lay beside him, panting. “Was it all right?”

Mark gave out a breathy laugh. Here was the good and proper Prince with his skin glistening with sweat and seed, his lips red from sucking Mark’s cock, and asking so innocently if he had done well. Mark found it arousing and amusing. “More than all right, I dare say.” He wrapped his arms around Derian and pulled him close to lick his seed from Derian’s neck and chest.

Derian quivered in Mark’s arms, moaning,“The way you do this…oh! It drives me mad!”

“Whatever shall we do?” Mark whispered desperately against Derian’s soft, warm skin. “I fear I will never be able to get enough of you.”

As soon as Mark confessed it, he wished he could take it back. But Derian cuddled close to him, laying contentedly in his arms. His sweet brown eyes contained a dreamy hopefulness.

“I’ve heard there are bad rains coming,” Derian whispered, burying his face in Mark’s neck. “We’ll have to stay a while longer.”

“Yes,” Mark agreed. “It will be too wet for much travel. The roads will be muddy and flooded.”

“There will be not much to do,” Derian continued. “I fear I will be in poor spirits and confined to my guest rooms.” He paused there as if he were thinking. “It would behoove my attendants to leave me with my lute player while he plays me songs to lift my spirits.” Derian lifted his head, gazing deeply into Mark’s eyes. “And… _instruct_ me.”

Mark gazed just as deeply back. “My Prince will require instruction. For his skill must be maintained. In case the Lady requests another song from him.”

“I must be ready.” Derian’s eyes sparkled with a secret.

And Mark was only too happy to share it. “Indeed.”

* * *

The very next morning as Mark broke his fast with the other servants, the clouds began to roll in. By mid-morning, Lord Dalston’s chambermaids were lighting the tapers as the cloud cover was so thick. Within the hour, the first sprinkles started and soon there were sheets of rain coming down. Fires were lit to keep the manor warm and dry, and Mark found a place in front of the fire in the Great Hall as he waited for the Prince, the King, and Lord Dalston to end their discussion.

Mark plucked impatiently at his lute while he waited. He’d heard a bit of the conversation, the King arranging a longer stay, and asking a messenger to relay such to the Queen. Travel would be impossible until the rains let up. Mark used to find rainy days depressing and had composed his most somber verses when the skies were gray. But today he was overjoyed. Long, rainy days meant long, warm nights in the Prince’s bed. He hoped the King would not keep Derian too long nor seek him out too often. Mark overheard Lord Dalston promising a comfortable and entertaining stay as long as the rains continued while the three men entered the Great Hall.

Mark immediately stood and bowed to the King. A few kitchen maids nearby curtsied. The King’s tapping cane on the stone floors came to a stop as he spotted Mark from across the room.

“Ah,” King Lucius called with a grin. “And there’s the boy now.” As he approached with Derian just behind, Mark bowed deeper. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, Mark Wolcott, for teaching my son so well. Her Grace, the Princess of Rosebourgh was much impressed. As was her father.”

Mark lifted his eyes. “Thank you, Your Majesty. It has been the highest honor for a humble musician such as me.”

King Lucius laughed heartily. “I intend to relay to Lysley your great talent for teaching as well as musicianship. You have done us well. Very well.”

Mark glanced behind the great King’s girth to see Derian’s secret smile. “I am most grateful for the honor, Majesty.”

“Very well, Mark. Carry on.” The King turned to Lord Dalston. “And now, my Lord, I’ve heard you have quite the coin collection.”

Lord Dalston scurried over to the King’s side. He reminded Mark of a shrewd-looking mole. Round face, little eyes, and an ugly saturnine mouth. “Yes, Your Majesty. It would be my utmost pleasure to show you.”

The King stroked his beard slyly and exchanged a glance with Derian before he followed Lord Mole from the Great Hall. Mark watched them leave then turned to Derian. “A coin collection?”

Derian turned to him. “My father says Dalston is holding onto many valuables while he pays little taxes. He’s merely torturing the man. Sensible, considering.”

“Considering what?” Mark inquired, although he wasn’t that interested. He couldn’t stop admiring the Prince dressed so royally in a dark cape and tall boots. An image of the Prince standing over him in those boots while he sank to his knees to undo his breeches flashed in Mark’s mind.

Derian stepped closer, but not too close, mindful of the kitchen maids doing their cleaning. “Dalston isn’t the most trustworthy. My father likes to keep him in check, so he doesn’t raise an army. He’s said some nasty things about my father to the other nobles.”

Mark had hardly heard a single word. He was deep in admiration and awe. The Prince was so handsome, so royal, that Mark suddenly felt humbled. He couldn’t believe he’d seen him completely disrobed and spent in his lovely mouth. Mark blushed and averted his gaze.

“What is it?” The Prince asked with a hint of a smile.

Mark glanced at the kitchen maids scrubbing the floors and getting the hall ready for dinner later. “I was hoping I would get to teach Your Highness more verse. If he is not already occupied.”

A flush bloomed on the Prince’s neck and he tilted his head just so. “I am not occupied. My afternoon is free.” He stared deeply into Mark’s eyes for a moment. “Come, let us practice.”

Mark quickly snatched up his lute and followed Derian to his rooms. He stayed a respectable distance behind him as they passed other servants on the way. Once inside, Mark noted there were no attendants. Not even a page boy. Derian shut the door as soon as Mark was through, latched it, and backed him up against it.

Before Mark could speak, the Prince leaned into him and kissed him passionately. Mark nearly dropped his lute, and wrapped his free arm around Derian’s shoulders and kissed him just as passionately back. He was beginning to feel things he shouldn’t, think things he shouldn’t, and certainly want things he shouldn’t.

Mark broke the kiss and the Prince made a groan of protest. Mark looked around the room. “Are you certain we’re alone?”

“I sent my attendants on a few errands in the village this morning. We’ll be alone for a few hours at least.”

Mark grinned. “Plenty of time for me to _teach_ you.” He leaned to the side to set his lute by the door but Derian stopped him.

“I do want you to play for me.”

Mark looked at him with surprise. “Of course. Anything you like to hear, Highness?”

Prince Derian looked suddenly shy. “Play the song for me? The April song?”

Mark laughed at the Prince’s bashfulness. “Your wish is my command.” He strode purposefully to a chair by the hearth. He tuned his lute and began to play.

For a few moments, Derian stood by the door watching him and listening. And then he slowly approached, moving behind the chair. As Mark sang the second verse, he felt Derian’s hands on his shoulders and then Derian’s lips on his neck.

Mark tilted his head to give him access and stopped strumming the strings.

“Keep playing,” Derian whispered in his ear.

Mark continued onto the third verse, trying hard to play and sing, but the Prince’s sweet kisses were distracting. When Mark began the final verse, Derian rested his head against his own, keeping it there until the final notes faded away.

For the longest time, Mark did not move. He wanted to stay this way, forever did he want to stay this way, with the Prince’s head against his and his soft, warm breath against his cheek. And then the Prince slid his hand down Mark’s arm, entangling their fingers, a deep breath exhaling from his lips.

“Your Highness…?”

“That song,” Derian’s voice caught and Mark was surprised to feel the wetness of a tear shed on his face. “It touches my heart. When I first heard it…heard you…you entranced me so. Oh, Mark…”

Mark sat very still, waiting. “Yes…?”

Instead of replying, Derian moved away from him and to a window to gaze out of it. Mark turned in the chair, confused. He set down his lute and went to stand by the Prince’s side.

“Is something wrong?” Mark asked with concern. “Have I offended you?”

When Derian turned to him, Mark saw his eyes were hazy with tears but there was a smile upon his face. “No, Mark. Not at all.” He turned back to the window. He was quiet for a few moments before he spoke again. “I was a lonely boy growing up. I had a large household only for me, to serve me, and protect me. But I had no one to comfort me. No one to turn to if I felt lost or afraid.” He paused. “My mother died, after giving me life.” He blinked and hung his head. “And my father and sisters could only come to see me sparingly. And even then, they had to be at a proper distance. They weren’t allowed to touch me. No one was allowed to touch me.” He sighed. “I know my father was only thinking of my safety. I am his only heir, after all. But you don’t know how many times…” He paused once more, his head shaking. Then he turned to look at Mark fully. “Your song. It makes me feel as if I’m a ship lost at sea and finally coming to shore. The comfort I missed. The touches I never had, because everyone was so afraid. And the words: _I wept for you that I must pine_ \- I know you were speaking of a love lost. But it makes me yearn for a love never known.”

Mark stared at the Prince for a moment, shocked and saddened by his words. He cleared his throat. “My father died when I was young and away from home.”

Derian looked at him curiously.

“I was in the Moviene Islands, playing at court. My mother and father were born there. My father was such a kind soul. Giving and loving, he worked so hard so that I could go to school and learn music. I never got to tell him goodbye or what his sacrifices meant to me. I think of him each time I’ve finished composing. Because he was so proud of me and encouraged me. Sometimes I think I hear his voice in the notes of my songs.”

Derian reached for his hand and Mark took it, entwining their fingers.

“And I am not afraid to touch you,” Mark continued, pulling the Prince close. “And you should be touched, you should be comforted.” He brought a hand to Derian’s face. “And you should not be lost nor afraid.” _And, my dear Prince, you should also be loved._ The words hung in Mark’s throat, stuck and unsaid as Derian stepped into his embrace.

Mark held him close and tilted his head to kiss him deeply, feeling a tear running down his Princely cheek. Mark held his gaze, spellbound, as he led him to the bed. He undressed him as carefully and dutifully as any attendant, removing his own clothes in kind.

He lay beside Prince Derian, naked under the warm covers, holding him in his arms, as the hard rains came down.


	9. Chapter 9

Derian felt a sweet peace that ended just beyond his eyelids.

He was warm, sated, and comforted deeply. He sank his head into the pillows and the fur-covered duvet, sighing with the greatest contentment. The sweetest dreams and sweetest words had passed the long, rainy night, and Derian was not ready for it to end.

But then there was a sound, sharp and metallic, and his eyes flung open. He spotted Archerd by the fireplace, stirring the ashes. Derian sat up, panic seizing him by the throat. He tugged hurriedly at the bed curtains, but turned to see his bed was empty. He looked to the other side of the room to see Mark peeking behind the tapestry, giving him a quick wave, and making his escape.

Morning.

Already?

“Ah, Your Grace,” Archerd’s voice echoed across the room. “You have awakened so early?”

Derian sighed with irritation. “Restless night.”

“Oh?” Archerd came closer, raising one of his bushy brows. “I’m sorry to hear it. Shall I return later?”

“No.” Derian reached for his robe. “I am awake now. Bring me a hot drink. The rains have brought a chill.”

Archerd inclined his head and left the room. Derian got out of bed and went to warm himself by the fire. He spotted Mark’s lute by the chair and swore. He quickly snatched it up, praying Archerd hadn’t seen it - _because how would he possibly explain the lute player came to play for him then up and left his lute!_ \- and went to hide it in a cupboard by the bed. Before he closed the cupboard door he strummed the strings and fingered the rose.

He thought of last night, of Mark holding him close in his strong arms, with no expectation that they should do anything else. As much as he’d shared with Mark thus far, that closeness last night made him feel incredibly vulnerable. Exposed. He’d never been held like that before in his life. Wrapped in the arms of another, his beating heart so close, his soothing words, and naked skin. Mark had been kind, patient.

_He’s not afraid to touch me._

Derian sighed, a deep sadness blooming inside him. Soon, the rains will end and they’ll return to the Cordesian Palace. He will be occupied assisting his father with governing and negotiating his marriage contract, no doubt. His sisters will be in and out of his rooms, Naeveen wanting news of the Princess and Navelle wanting details of her dresses. All will be the same. All will return to a normalcy, a life, that Derian knew he did not want.

So, perhaps this time at Lord Dalston’s with the rains halting their travel would be his only reprieve. The only time he’d have to be in Mark’s arms and, _by God_ , he wanted those arms around him every night. And would Mark be just as patient and just as kind when they returned? Would he be willing to come to Derian’s rooms after a long day of wedding plans and governing? Would it even be right to expect that of him? Derian hung his head as he battled with a selfishness inside him, a want, an aching need.

And _the rose_.

Derian inhaled sharply as he thought once more of Mark naked beside him. He once more imagined Mark slipping his cock between his legs, penetrating him, and crying out as Mark pushed deep inside him. Derian bit his lip so hard he feared it would bleed. He wanted to lie with Mark as a man lies with a woman. As a stallion claims a mare. The power of it, the knowing, the wanting…shouldn’t he have this once, before he can never have it again?

This was the only time they would have. Why shouldn’t he know true bliss? Why shouldn’t the Prince of Cordesia have his pleasure and comfort all at once? For one day it would all be gone. Mark would find another young man who could give himself completely. One who was not trapped in such a gilded cage; heavy, golden wings beating against unyielding brass bars. The thought of Mark with anyone else, of going away and taking his lovely song with him, caused a hollow space to form in Derian’s heart. He’d grown so close to him already, so comforted, and so needing.

And he selfishly did not know if he wanted to face a future without him. He would need Mark’s comfort and reassurance in the coming months. His sweet voice. His _song_.

The door opened, causing Derian to jump up from the cupboard. Archerd entered, carrying a tray of steaming hot posset and some bread.

“All is well, Your Grace?” He asked absently, setting the tray on a table.

“Yes, Archerd,” Derian replied with a sigh. “All is well.”

* * *

Lord Dalston attempted to keep King Lucius entertained by showing off his many collections. Derian would have been subjected to it as well except he decided to stay in his rooms and keep Mark with him. For the first part of the day, Derian’s attendants roamed about, performing their duties as Derian had no good excuse for dismissing them. It was their job and honor to serve the Prince and Derian couldn’t keep sending them off into the village in this rain.

But he pretended to be an attentive pupil for Mark as they carried on the pretense Mark was there to give him more lessons. It was torture really, but Derian was happy to have Mark close by in any case. Mark cleverly found ways to touch Derian’s hand - _only to correct your fingers on the frets, Your Highness_ \- and lean close to him as he played - _I must see that you are fingering the strings correctly, Your Highness_ \- and, in one particularly bold moment, stroke Derian’s cheek - _I thought I saw a bit of dust just there, Your Highness_.

Mark’s attempts made Derian smile. He positively adored his cleverness and wanted so much to tell him so, but there were too many ears around. Finally, around midday, after Dalston’s servants brought them their meal, Derian could stand it no longer. He dismissed his attendants to go wait upon the King for the rest of the afternoon. The King will need extra care after walking about on his cane and enduring Dalston’s wagging tongue. After they’d all departed, Derian placed a page boy outside his door and instructed him not to let anyone in until Derian told him so. Derian latched the door and in two quick strides he was in Mark’s arms at last, his mouth finding those soft sweet lips, and his fingers tangling in that thick umber hair.

Mark groaned into his mouth, clutching him close, and Derian was hard as stone in seconds. He pressed himself up against Mark to feel Mark’s cock was equally hard. Derian could not help himself. He dropped to his knees and began undoing the ties on Mark’s breeches.

“Oh,” Mark gasped in surprise. “Oh…Your Highness…I -”

“I must,” Derian insisted. “I must taste you. I must please you.”

Mark stared down at him wide-eyed as Derian slipped Mark’s thick, hard cock between his lips. Derian looked up at Mark’s face as he sucked, watching his eyes squeeze shut, his nostrils flare, his lips part with gasps and groans. As Derian filled his mouth with Mark’s prick, he thought of how it might feel to have Mark fill him in another way. Mark was large for Derian’s mouth and he wondered how Mark would feel inside him, pushing deeply, thrusting breathlessly. Derian closed his eyes and imagined himself bending over the serving table to allow Mark the Lute Player to claim the Golden Prince like a whore.

Derian made a deep groan in his throat that reverberated in his chest. He kissed the tip of Mark’s cock, gazing up at him innocently as he licked the leaking dew from his slit. Although Derian was completely clothed, he felt as bare as he was in Mark’s arms last night as he looked up at him while on his knees. Mark’s fingers curled into his hair and tugged making Derian suck harder, taking long, excruciating pulls on Mark’s throbbing shaft, creating such sounds out of Mark, Derian was throbbing hard simply from listening. Derian could not stop watching Mark’s face, the pupils of his green eyes darken like black moons, a rosy flush appearing on his neck and cheeks, his pink lips moistening and reddening from his tongue and teeth, licking and biting to stifle his sounds of pleasure. Mark leaned back to grasp the back of a chair to steady himself. Derian could feel his legs shaking and knew his release was near. Derian did his best to coax it along, opening his mouth more and relaxing his throat to take more of Mark inside. Mark’s cry was loud and high-pitched, his cock pulsing as his hot seed burst into Derian’s mouth.

Derian was determined to swallow all of it this time as thick, milky spurts poured down his throat. Mark trembled, his fingers tightening in Derian’s hair and Derian loved how Mark pulled as if he were reigning him in like a steed. Derian drank Mark down until Mark was panting, his knees buckling. Derian stood, wanting to undress him, and then carry him to the bed as if he were a bride. Derian began at Mark’s doublet, but Mark reached out a hand to stop him.

“Wait,” Mark said, his eyes still black-mooned with fervent lust. He leaned close, his voice a near whisper. “I want you to stand over me in your long cape and tall boots while you spend in my mouth.”

Derian shivered and let out a moan. He didn’t know where his cape and tall boots were. Archerd had taken them and put them away. He looked at Mark helplessly. “I’m afraid it might take me a few minutes to find them. My manservant tends to my clothes. I -”

A smile crossed Mark’s lips. He shook his head. “Perhaps we should save that for another time.”

Derian bit his lip, his mind flooding with other ways he could please Mark. He carefully led Mark over to his bed, shutting the curtains, leaving only a sliver of light. Wordlessly, Derian undressed him, giving him nervous glances. He could tell Mark was perplexed as he removed his own clothes. Once they were naked, Derian lay alongside Mark, cuddling him into his arms.

Mark pulled his head back to look at him. “Penny for your thoughts, Highness?”

“I was thinking…that…,” Derian paused, looking at the back of the red curtains. “It’s only that I have heard that there is a way for two fellows to…” Derian stopped there, unsure of how to say the words. He looked at Mark for understanding.

Mark said nothing for a moment, and then Derian noticed his cheeks flushing in the dim light. “Oh…I see. Well…”

Derian looked at Mark’s handsome face as he became bashful, his sharp jade eyes, his careless umber hair, and thought of the feel of his calloused fingers on his cock and the taste of his seed. He thought of how Mark held him last night, with care and kindness.

Derian propped up on his elbow, leaning over Mark, looking earnestly into his eyes. “I want you inside me. I want you to take me, claim me, as the horse claims the mare. I want to be made yours.”

Mark’s cheeks reddened even deeper, but his nostrils flared with sheer carnality. “Oh, Derian, are you sure? There is much preparation, and I have heard it can be painful.”

Derian kissed Mark lightly on the lips. “I will know no pain if it is with you.”

Mark looked into his eyes, a torn expression upon his face.

“Haven’t you done so before?” Derian asked.

Mark averted his eyes. “No. Not that. I have only known one other man before you. And it was for the briefest of times.”

Derian found himself feeling pleased. Mark was practically as innocent as him. “Then shall we learn together, dear Mark? I must know what it is to be filled by another man, to have him take me, and fuck me.”

Mark was breathing hard, watching his lips. “Such language, such words, for a sweet, innocent Prince.”

“Haven’t you noticed that I am not so innocent,” Derian said hoarsely, his cock hardening. “When I am sucking your cock and swallowing your spend?”

Mark made a deep growl of arousal and turned Derian on his back. Derian kissed his lips over and over, his neck, reaching down to take hold of his arse…

“Do you have oils?” Mark interrupted. “Something to lubricate?”

Derian smiled. “I asked my manservant to bring me some from the village just yesterday.” He reached between the curtains to open the bedside cupboard.

Mark sat back on his knees, a look of alarm on his face. “You told your manservant to fetch the oils for you?”

“Yes,” Derian took the bottle to show him. “ Is it not the right kind?”

Mark frowned. “I do not know if there is a wrong kind or not, but what if your manservant guessed at what this is for? Or if he was recognized in the village?”

Derian held the bottle in his palms. “Archerd is a simple man. He would not know what the oils were for nor would he have been bold enough to ask. And no one would recognize him, for he was covered in a cloak to guard from the rains.”

A bit of relief fell over Mark’s features, but Derian frowned. “Should I have asked you first? I only wanted to be prepared.”

Mark closed his eyes a moment, then leaned forward to cup Derian’s face in his hands. “I am only concerned for your reputation, Derian. For if your manservant was recognized and someone saw what he was buying, the things people would say of you. It could get back to Rosebourgh and the Princess.”

“They wouldn’t know it was for me,” Derian protested. Had he been careless? He’d only wanted to be ready. _And curse the Princess and her father, too! I care not what they think!_

“Even so, the people would talk of how your closest attendant was seen purchasing something that is intended for…well…and how that might reflect upon you.”

Derian closed his hands around the bottle. “I did not think of that.” Deep down he did care what Princess Matilde and King Bowdyn thought. If they were to change their minds, Derian’s father would demand to know why. Derian could not fathom what would happen if his father were to know the things he’d done.

_And what would my father do to Mark…_

Derian suddenly felt a deep protectiveness for the boy. “I suppose I should have thought better of what I was doing. But I only wanted to be prepared for you, Mark. Not draw any attention.”

Mark stroked Derian’s cheek lightly with his thumb. “I suppose I cannot blame you. You had other things on your mind.” He planted a light kiss on Derian’s lips. “And they have been on my mind as well.”

Derian mimicked Mark’s gesture. “Then shall we take what has been in our minds and spend this time making them a reality?”

Derian returned the intense gaze Mark gave him for a few moments. Then Mark took the bottle of oil. “Lay on your stomach,” he whispered, and Derian turned over, laying across the fur-covered doublet, feeling his cock grow hard in anticipation. He stared at the edge of the bed curtains while he heard Mark open the bottle of oil. He heard the sound of Mark rubbing it on his hands and an exotic scent filled his nostrils; one that reminded Derian of tales of far away lands, spices, and sensual magic.

Derian felt Mark place one hand on his arse. “I’m going to put my finger inside you. I’ll be gentle. Please tell me if I am hurting you.”

Derian nodded. He wasn’t sure what to expect as he felt Mark’s finger stroking oil outside of his opening. At first, it felt cold and slick, but then it began to warm. Derian then felt Mark’s fingertip slowly pushing inside. Derian felt an instinct to resist, but Mark leaned over him and whispered in his ear for him to relax as best he could. Derian took a breath, and Mark pushed his finger inside a bit more. There was a burning sensation and one of being stretched. Derian opened his legs wider as Mark sank his finger further inside until he was all the way in.

Derian took several breaths, getting used to Mark’s slicked up finger clamped inside him. Mark’s lips were upon his temple, his cheek, and he nuzzled into Derian’s ear. “All right, my Prince?” He whispered tenderly.

“Yes,” Derian breathed.

Mark began to move his finger, in and out, in slow motions. And then Derian felt Mark depress his finger slightly and a sensation there caused Derian to gasp. It was strange, pleasurable, and caused his cock to harden and leak underneath him in half a second.

Mark stopped pressing. “Have I hurt you?”

“No,” Derian quickly replied. “It was…the way it felt was so…exquisite.”

Mark then pulled out his finger and inserted two fingers. He pushed in just as slowly, and Derian relaxed to adjust. He did not know how Mark’s cock would fit inside him if his two fingers felt so incredibly wide. Mark slowly moved his fingers in and out, touching that same spot each time he pushed in, causing Derian to want more stimulation, more pressure. Just _more_. He wriggled and panted and Mark thrust his fingers in and out of him at a quicker pace. Derian began to mumble and babble sounds he did not understand himself as he gripped the coverlet tight in his fists. He felt as if he might spend but in a different way.

Mark slipped his fingers out, and Derian grit his teeth, feeling strangely empty. Mark lay back on the bed beside him, stroking his cock, slicking it with his oiled hand and a stream of his dew. “It will be better for you, if you sit astride me,” Mark whispered. “Then you will have control.”

Derian had imagined Mark bending him over and fucking him over a table. But he wanted so much to feel filled again that he did as Mark suggested. Derian sat astride him, and guided Mark’s cock outside of his opening. His thighs shook as he began to sink down onto Mark’s throbbing length. As the tip pushed inside him, Derian groaned and heard a gasp from Mark. It burned and stretched more than Mark’s fingers, but Derian sank down more. He closed his eyes as he slowly took Mark inside him, feeling Mark’s hands upon his hips, holding him tightly. And then Derian felt Mark’s hips touching his arse and he realized Mark was all the way inside.

Derian was very still for a few moments, breathing, getting used to the feel of a cock inside him. Derian opened his eyes to see Mark looking at him in a way that made Derian’s throat swell and the corner of his eyes grow wet.

Mark brushed a hand up Derian’s torso, rubbing over his navel. “My Prince…are you all right?”

Derian stared down at Mark, so lovely beneath him, his sharp bright eyes full of admiration, the skin of his chest as flushed as his cheeks, as it rose and fell with his breath. And Derian could only think in that moment that they were joined together, him and Mark, the boy who’s song had enchanted him. Derian leaned forward to stroke his face, and Mark slipped his hand over Derian’s. Then Derian moved his hand to Mark’s chest, and then his other, balancing himself as he began to move, rocking his hips slowly, feeling the burning sensation give way to one of intense pleasure.

Mark held Derian’s hips as Derian stared down into his face, lips parting as he took breath after panting breath. Mark wrapped his fingers around Derian’s cock and stroked him in time to the rocking of his hips. Derian managed to get an angle where Mark’s cock rubbed the spot inside him he’d felt before. The fullness of Mark’s prick and the way it brushed against that place made Derian cry out. Mark’s breaths came quicker, his groans louder, and Derian could no longer hold back. His seed spilled from his cock in thick, white spurts all over Mark’s chest and hand. Derian cried out, his legs trembled, and he clenched against Mark’s cock inside of him.

Then Derian cried out again as he felt Mark spend. Mark gripped his thighs, groaning, his hips bucking up into Derian, his warm seed filling him. Derian rocked his hips as Mark continued to spend inside him again and again. Derian’s thighs were aching and trembling when Mark finished, his hands gripping Derian’s hips ever so tightly. Derian took a minute to catch his breath then sat up on his knees so Mark could pull himself out. When he did so, Derian felt trickles of Mark’s seed running down his legs.

Derian collapsed beside Mark kissing him, then giving Mark a devilish look, he bent over Mark’s chest and licked up his seed. Mark growled. “Oh, my Prince. My dear, sweet, lusty Prince.”

“Mark,” Derian said, kissing him sweetly on his lips, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. “My dear, sweet, wonderful Mark.” He lay beside him, taking him into his arms, and nuzzling his face into Mark’s neck. “The rose,” he murmured.

Mark sighed. “Yes. The rose.” He kissed the top of Derian’s head. “My rose.”

* * *

Derian felt curiously tender towards Mark after their first coupling.

He wanted to always be touching him and have him near every minute. Mark took his lute from the cupboard and brought it into the bed. He played Derian a sad song, one he said he’d written on a rainy day many years ago. The verses made Derian nearly weep. He could not believe Mark had been so sad to have written them. He vowed to never let Mark be so melancholy again.

Well…for as long as Mark allowed him.

Surely, what they shared would end once they returned to the Cordesian Palace. Derian did not want to think it so, but it would be so. Their discovery would be far too risky and certainly Mark would grow bored with him soon enough. Derian knew there were a few handsome young musicians in Lysley’s retinue. One of them would be a far better match for Mark.

Even so, Derian did not want to see it nor think it. Mark with another man - no! Derian wrestled with his selfish desires to keep Mark near, no matter the risk, no matter who may notice. His courtship of the Princess would continue, and how could he possibly endure it without his sweet lute player by his side?

Derian felt Mark’s soft fingertips on his forearm. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Derian came back to the present, looked at Mark beside him, naked, and holding his lute. Derian took the lute from Mark and set it aside. “Why must it be pennies for thoughts and not kisses?” He pressed his lips to Mark’s.

“You are the Prince,” Mark smiled. “You can change pennies to kisses if you so wish.”

“If only I had such true power,” Derian murmured against Mark’s lips, kissing him deeply. He could hear the rains outside, pattering against the side of the manor. He said a silent wish the rains would continue for longer, so he may have this time with Mark last.

_If only I had such true power_.

Power to change coins into kisses, make rains last for weeks, and to make Princess Matilde and her father disappear.

* * *

Everyone within Lord Dalston’s manor became restless.

Derian could sense his father becoming irritable. He’d left his Palace at the charge of his pregnant Queen and two daughters. Derian knew Naeveen was sensible enough, but Navelle was probably refusing to assist and his step-mother was perhaps too exhausted. It made Derian feel a bit guilty for enjoying himself. Naeveen, Navelle, and Queen Albiona were not born nor bred to govern. Derian began to feel a bit of bitterness about it. Surely, his sisters could do well, if they knew the ins and outs. Why must it be him? All because he’s a boy?

“Are you listening to me?” King Lucius snipped.

Derian turned to him. They were inside Lord Dalston’s drawing room, enjoying some ale, and discussing how the negotiations would go with Rosebourgh. Derian had hardly been able to tear himself away from Mark, but when his father beckoned, he must go. And now his father was sick of Lord Dalston’s shrewd-face and was seeking Derian’s company while they waited for the skies to clear. At least Derian had the evening to look forward to…

“I am sorry, father,” Derian replied, standing to cross the room to the windows. “I did not hear. I was lost in thought.”

“What on earth could you possibly be thinking of at a time like this?” King Lucius demanded and Derian felt his face redden. He had not meant to say such.

“I am thinking of the Princess, of course,” Derian answered quickly. “It is she who distracts me.”

King Lucius gave his son a sly smile. “There will be time, my son, to think upon the Lady. But for now we must think upon the kingdom.”

Derian agreed and seated himself beside his father again and tried not to get distracted with thoughts of Mark. Thoughts of the boy - his touch, his smile, his sweet voice - were the only way Derian could withstand anything else. And why shouldn’t the Prince of Cordesia have a companion? Why shouldn’t he have a friend to get him through the months ahead?

As King Lucius rambled on about wedding plans, Derian could only think of Mark’s warm body in his bed, his sharp jade eyes looking into his own, and his sweet voice singing. Derian knew then that he could not let Mark go.

He must have Mark by his side. He would find a way. And as selfish as it was, Derian insisted to himself: he _must_.


	10. Chapter 10

Mark listened to the quiet breaths of the Prince mixed with the tapping rain.

The soft exhales of Prince Derian soothed him, but the drops of rain worried him. It was letting up. No longer a downpour, the clouds were moving and the rain was slowing. Soon, the sun would be out to dry up the flooded fields and harden the mud to dirt, and then they would return to the Cordesian Palace.

Mark did not want to return.

Surely, the Prince did not intend to carry this sweet interlude any further when they arrived. Why would he? Mark gently lay an arm around him, where his head rested on Mark’s chest. Mark did not want these lovely days to cease, but they would and so would the Prince’s affections. They were not meant for him. Mark pondered if perhaps the Prince was merely curious and it would end the day he took his bride. Mark had heard of such curiosities amongst men and women. Mark tightened his arm around the Prince and felt the Prince snuggle closer to him. But was it merely curiosity?

Mark had sneaked through the servants’ passages after dinner to Derian’s rooms. He’d brushed the tapestry aside to find Derian standing by his bed, robe undone to show his nakedness. Derian had handed Mark the oil, removed his robe, and got on the bed, positioned on his hands knees, entreating Mark to mount him. Mark could not believe the fire that unleashed inside him. His hands had shook with want as he oiled up his cock. He’d held the Prince’s hips steady and rubbed the sweet cheeks of his arse with his thumbs as he slowly slid inside him.

The Prince was warm and tight and to have him bent over like a whore sent sparks of lust into Mark’s veins like nothing before. He’d resisted the urge to plunge into the Prince in one hard thrust and pushed inside him slowly, knowing the Prince could be sore from their last coupling. The Prince cried out as Mark slid into him, his arse tight and slick with the oils. Mark had draped himself over the Prince, laying his chest over the his back, gripping his hands as he fucked him deep. The sounds Derian made, his cries of pleasure, sent Mark tipping over the edge, filling the Prince with this seed. And when Mark pulled out, drippings of his spendings went down the Prince’s legs. Mark had groaned with the sight of his spendings inside the Prince of Cordesia, marking him, taking claim to him; he was the first and the only to do so.

And Mark wanted so much for it to stay that way!

Would the Prince bend over for him and beg Mark to fuck him if it was only curiosity? Would he fall asleep in Mark’s arms so peacefully if he meant to end things between them? Mark nuzzled his face into the Prince’s soft auburn curls. He was beginning to feel things for the Prince he knew were wrong, dangerous, and a great risk. It was one thing to enjoy himself with another man’s body, but it was entirely another to sleep by his side, talk with him, and share songs with him.

Derian stirred in Mark’s arms, making a child-like sigh. Mark placed a gentle kiss on Derian’s forehead. “Does His Highness wake?”

“Mmmm.” Derian stretched his legs and folded them in between Mark’s. “Not yet. Just a few minutes longer still.”

Mark smiled. “I think I have worn out His Highness. I have influenced you, wrongfully so.”

Derian lazily reached up to brush his hair from his eyes. “There are no wrong influences here, Mark.” He turned so that he was laying over Mark’s chest, chin cupped in his fist to prop up his head. “There is only your music,” he said dreamily. “And,” he added with the arch of an eyebrow, “your instruction.”

Mark curled his fingers against Derian’s warm cheek, rubbing. “And what more instruction does my Prince require?”

Derian’s dreamy gaze fell on Mark’s mouth. Moving up Mark’s chest, Derian’s lips met his sweetly, almost innocently. Mark kissed lazily back, taking the Prince’s plump lower lip between his own to suck it gently. The act made Derian groan. He rolled over on the bed to his stomach, lifting his hips slightly.

“Please, Mark,” he whispered. “Will you fuck me again?”

Mark felt his cock swell instantly. It would always be arousing - such words from the Prince of Cordesia. Mark rolled to Derian’s side and reached for the bottle of oil. He slicked his hand to prepare Derian’s entrance until Derian was groaning and his hips moving in time to Mark’s thrusting fingers.

Derian lifted his hips more to offer himself. Mark oiled up his cock, sliding the leaking tip down Derian’s spine in a slow, sensual line before breaching the Prince’s entrance. Derian gave out a low moan as Mark pushed into the tight, sweet hole of the Prince. Once inside to the hilt, Mark placed each hand on either side of Derian’s shoulders and began to thrust. Mark gazed down as he claimed the Prince of Cordesia with his cock. Derian’s head was turned, mouth opening with pants and moans of want, and Mark’s name on his lips as his release drew near.

Mark angled his hips to thrust deeper and Derian made a sudden sound, a yelp, high-pitched.

“Oh! There, Mark! There!” Derian cried, moving his hips back, fingers digging into the fur coverlet.

To see the sweet Prince splayed like a bitch in heat beneath him, begging for his cock, begging to be filled, made Mark’s arms tremble. He leaned forward to kiss Derian’s neck, the back of his shoulders, and tugged at the Prince’s skin with his teeth. Mark felt the heat of desire uncoil inside him, and he cried out. His hips stuttered as he spent deep inside the Prince in one endless burst. Mark did not think he could stop as the Prince groaned beneath him, pleading for more. He felt Derian clench around his cock then cry out as his seed pooled beneath him on the coverlet.

Mark emptied himself at last and collapsed on the Prince, his sweaty chest breathing hard against the Prince’s sweaty back. Mark kissed the spots his teeth had been. Even though he had not bitten too hard, he hoped he had not hurt the Prince. He had not meant to, but in that moment something carnal and animal had taken him over.

Derian turned beneath him, rolling Mark onto his back, planting hungry kisses all over him, the tip of his cock wet with seed. Mark reached down to finger it, then in a burst of lust anew, angled Derian on his side so Mark could bend down and clean Derian’s cock with his tongue. Mark closed his eyes as he licked off the remaining drops of Derian’s seed, feeling the fresh-spent cock harden and twitch. Derian grasped his head, tugging at this umber hair, pulling him up to meet his mouth. The Prince’s tongue slid into Mark’s mouth to touch, to taste, to explore.

Mark’s kisses became softer, lazier as he settled on his side, embracing the Prince in his arms. The satisfied calm after coupling began to sink into Mark’s muscles, relaxing him. He pulled Derian closer to nuzzle into this neck, kiss the outer shell of his ear, and to almost say the words he knew that he could not.

Mark held the Prince, feeling the Prince’s sweet breath on his skin, his legs tangled in his own, marking the moment, taking it all in, for he feared it may never come again.

* * *

When Mark opened his eyes, a soft yellow glow came in through the bed curtains. It warmed the skin of the Prince who was laying next to him, one hand under his chin, as the fingers of his other rubbed the hairs on Mark’s chest.

“Did I wake you?” Derian said softly.

Mark closed his eyes again, reveling in the Prince’s soft touch. “I believe I was merely dreaming, Highness.”

“And what does Master Lute Player dream of?”

Mark had the words on the tip of his tongue. So easily he could say them. He slipped his hand over Derian’s, entwining their fingers. “I was dreaming of a place.”

“A place?” Derian snuggled beside him, planting soft kisses to Mark’s cheek. “Describe it to me.”

Mark smiled. Eyes still closed, he tugged Derian’s arm so it lay over him and placed their heads together. “It was warm and full of sunshine. White sands and crystal blue sea. There was the scent of exotic flowers in the breeze. The sound of birds and crashing waves.”

“How lovely.” Derian rubbed his nose against Mark’s ear. “I can just see it and feel myself there.”

“I have been there in the flesh,” Mark continued sleepily. “It is a hidden beach on the Moviene Islands. When I served King Fabian, I used to go there when I felt troubled or when I had a song in my heart. I liked to bring my lute and play my favorite tunes to cheer me.”

“It sounds so peaceful.”

“It was.” Mark could practically feel the tang of the sea-salty air on his tongue and the warmth of the sun upon his face. He could hear the notes of the lute blending with the breeze. It had been some of the most peaceful and happiest days of his life - and yet, he’d been all alone. No one to share that peace and happiness with. “Even now, when I feel worried or afraid, I think of that place. It calms me so.”

“The Islands…where your family came from.” Derian’s lashes tickled Mark’s cheek as he moved closer. “I have not been there, but I have heard stories. My nursemaid told me the Islands were formed when the mountains of Exia wanted to bathe in the sea. So, they plunged their rocky hands and feet into the waters and left some rocks behind, hence making the Islands.”

Mark sighed. “My father used to tell me that story.”

There was quiet for a moment and Mark thought perhaps Derian had fallen asleep. But Derian stirred, and Mark opened his eyes to see that he’d propped up his chin again to gaze down at him.

“I should have known that is where you came from. With that lovely color in your eyes…” the Prince stroked Mark’s cheek with a tenderness that made Mark’s heart nearly take flight. “Will you tell me about your mother?” Derian asked. “Your siblings? I am certain you miss them.”

“I do,” Mark admitted. “But I need to be away earning money to send them. The position at the Cordesian Palace has been a godsend. My mother needs all the coins I can send them. Once my father passed, she became responsible for the sheep and all of us.” Mark paused, thinking of her patience and how hard she worked to keep them all fed and safe. “I wanted to stay home to help her, but she insisted I continue with my music. It was what my father wanted, she said, and so I left home in search of a position. I send them anything that will help. They depend on me.” Mark shifted, thinking of them at home right now, perhaps hoping they could salvage something from their garden when the rains ended. And here he was lying naked with the Prince of Cordesia, enjoying the weather for the selfish joy it brought him. “I must write to them and send them some money soon.”

“Might I send along something for them, too?” The Prince inquired.

Mark looked at him with surprise.

“I’ve asked my physician to go as soon as the rains have let up. But I have gems of great value I can send as well. And coins from my father.”

Derian’s generosity warmed Mark’s heart. “Why should you be troubled with such? They are my responsibility.”

“But they are a part of you.” The Prince’s face flushed. “And, er, my subjects. Er…my father’s subjects. We must do what we can. To help. Of course.” He buried his reddened face in Mark’s neck.

Mark laughed softly and tilted the Prince’s face so he could look into his eyes. “Why do you flush, Highness? Pretending not to care so?”

Derian’s eyes searched his for a few hushed moments. Mark felt his heart begin to pound.

“I fear,” Derian said softly, “that I will begin to care too much.”

“And what, my Prince, would be so wrong with that?”

Prince Derian stared into Mark’s eyes for a long while, and then he pulled Mark into his arms, placing soft kisses to Mark’s forehead, his hair. “My dearest Mark,” he whispered.

But the Prince left Mark’s question unanswered.

* * *

Mark awoke to clear skies.

He pushed aside the bed curtains and squinted his eyes to the bright sunlight that had not emerged in days. The rains had let up overnight. Mark felt his stomach fall as he looked down beside him at the sleeping Prince. Mark’s heart fluttered at the sight of Derian laying on his stomach his hand reaching towards where Mark lay, as if reaching out for him.

Mark’s fluttering heart began to ache. It would not be long now. They would return home and then how will it be? Will the Prince still ask for him? Mark took his outstretched hand and placed it over his heart. Mark knew how he’d fallen for the boy, but he also knew that he must not cause him any trouble.

But couldn’t they have had just one more day?

Prince Derian stirred and looked up at Mark. Mark gave him a sad smile. “Good morning.”

Derian squinted at the opening in the bed curtains. “Oh, it’s so terribly bright.” He crawled over to look out and saw the room bathed in sunlight. He turned to Mark with disbelief. Before he could speak, there was a sound at the door and it opened, Archerd walking within.

Derian and Mark quickly closed the curtains, Derian urging Mark to be silent with a finger to his lips. Mark burrowed under the coverlet and listened to Archerd’s footsteps. He went to the serving table, setting something upon it, and then stirred the ashes in the fireplace.

Mark looked at Derian’s worried face in the dim light behind the curtains. He could not let the Prince be caught with him. It could ruin him, and the people would not respect him nor love him as they do now. Mark felt a fool for not being more careful.

After the sounds of the stirring ashes ceased, Archerd called out, “Your Grace, it is time to wake.”

Derian lie back and rubbed his eyes, groaned sleepily. “Oh, Archerd. Let me rest a few minutes more.”

“Nay, Your Grace. Your father wants to break his fast with you and begin preparations to return home.”

Mark burrowed into the coverlet deeper, covering his head, and placing a comforting hand on the Prince’s thigh.

“Very well,” Derian sighed. “Will you fetch me some posset?”

“I have brought some straight from the kitchens, Your Grace.”

“Then get me some bread, for I am famished.”

“I have brought bread as well.”

Derian sighed. “Then will you go to the kitchens to find some herbs? Something for head pains? I have an ache.”

Mark heard Archerd make an exasperated sound. “Very well, Your Grace.”

When the door was shut, Derian pulled down the coverlet and Mark sat up.

“I must go to the servant’s quarters,” Mark whispered, reaching to find his clothes.

“No, not yet.” Derian placed a hand on his arm. “The task will take Archerd some time. Please do not go just yet.”

Mark saw the beseeching look in the Prince’s eyes. As much as Mark knew he must depart, he could not tell those eyes no. He leaned in to kiss the Prince, pushing him on his back upon the coverlet. His eyes caught sight of where the Prince’s spendings stained it from their last coupling.

“You must not let Archerd see this,” he whispered against Derian’s mouth, trying to roll up the blanket.

“It will be the housemaids,” Derian whispered back, his kisses growing desperate. “Worry not, for we have been careful.”

“Not careful enough.” Mark pulled Derian close, pressing their chests together. “What if Archerd had parted the curtains?”

“He wouldn’t dare,” the Prince assured, holding Mark just as close. “Please, stay a few minutes longer, if only so I can kiss you.”

Mark looked down into the eyes of his dear Prince, the sunlight glowing through a part in the curtains, casting a thin line of light over the Prince’s face. His lazy gaze and soft smile sent Mark’s heart pattering like the hard rain drops. He could not tear himself away. He placed a kiss at the pale base of Derian’s throat. He felt Derian quiver in his arms and Mark continued to kiss him there until he felt the Prince’s cock harden underneath him.

Mark kissed down his torso, looking up into Derian’s lusty eyes. “We shall be quick, Highness.”

Before Derian could speak, Mark had taken his cock into his mouth, worshiping his length with his lips and tongue, as if it would be the very last time.

* * *

Mark received word from his family as soon as he returned to Cordesia.

The Prince had kept good on his promise and sent his physician, Dr. Babington, to tend to Nevill. Mark’s mother relayed that Dr. Babington had arrived with many medicines, listened to Nevill’s heart, and gave him herbs to enrich his blood and strengthen him. Dr. Babington promised them he’d return the following month to check Nevill’s progress. Mark’s mother claimed she was already seeing quite an improvement in the boy. No longer did he move so sluggishly, and he had an appetite unlike he ever had before. Mark read the hope in his mother’s words and in the one’s written by Sabina as they asked Mark to thank His Highness for sending his doctor. They would never be able to thank him enough.

Mark set the letter down, smiling. He lay back upon his bed inside the Cordesian Palace and listened to the servants bustling up and down the hall, still in a tizzy after the King’s return. There was word the Queen had some pains while they were away and the physicians were sent for. Apparently, it had been nothing to worry about, but Queen Albiona was keeping to her rooms mostly. She would appear in public with the King that evening, however, at a banquet to welcome him home. And Prince Derian, too. Their visit to Rosebourgh had been a success.

Mark sighed and rolled on his side.

Yes, a success in so many ways…

But now it seemed a distant memory. Mark had not gotten a moment alone with the Prince since they’d returned. It was just as well, and Mark had expected such, but it left him lonely and aching, nonetheless. It had been days now, and the last Mark had touched the sweet Prince was on the last leg of their journey.

When they’d stopped to let the horses drink from a stream and take refuge from the afternoon heat in the shade, Derian had boldly requested his lute player come walk with him in the trees. Mark knew his lute would not be needed, but he brought it for show, and when they were away from any watchful eyes, Derian had pressed Mark against a tree. The kiss felt like a fresh, cool breath in the heavy heat of the day. Mark gave himself over to it completely, returning the Prince’s passion, and pressing their bodies close.

Cocks hard and breaths panting, Derian attempted to reach into Mark’s breeches to stroke him, but someone called for him. Derian bit at Mark’s earlobe in frustration, making Mark moan loudly. Derian whispered in his ear his apologies and walked off. Leaving Mark equally frustrated and alone in the trees.

And now the Prince was occupied, as he should be, and Mark felt as if their time at Lord Dalston’s had simply been a dream. He shivered and closed his eyes at the memory of the Prince’s hands roaming all over his skin, the softness of his lips, and the heat of his cream spilling into his mouth. And being inside him for the very first time. A new experience for them both. Mark had stroked himself frantically to the memory of their coupling every night since they’d returned. Mark’s hand was a poor substitute, but at times Mark could feel it all over again. The slickness of the oil, the tight heat of Derian’s entrance, and Derian’s words - pleading for Mark to fuck him, fill him, take him, claim him.

Mark bit his lip. He was ready to spend in his breeches just thinking of it. He considered stroking himself when he heard a knock at his door. He opened it to find two pages - one holding a gilded box and the other with a basket of fruits.

“Master Wolcott?” The boy with the fruits asked, peering over the tall basket.

“Yes?” Mark replied.

“His Grace, Prince Derian, has requested the delivery of these rare fruits and these precious gems.” The boy with the gilded box opened it to show Mark and Mark gasped. Inside was were sparkling pink stones - likely rosestone - that was mined in the valleys of Exia. Very expensive and very rare.

“His Grace also would like us to relay his apologies,” the page boy continued, “for not having the time for his lessons with you. For that, he is most sorry for being so occupied and has sent these gifts as a token of his appreciation for Master Wolcott’s efforts.”

Mark felt his face growing warm, knowing precisely what the Prince had intended to say. “Thank you. I am quite surprised and grateful for His Highness’s kindness.”

The boys brought the gifts into Mark’s room, setting them upon the serving table. They each gave Mark a quick bow and scurried away. Mark stared at the gifts, his heart swelling and his grin nearly hurt it was so wide. He wanted to laugh heartily and cry joyful tears. He examined the fruits. Some were quite exotic, coming from as far away as the Omans Empire. Mark even saw some fruits native to the Moviene Islands. He did not know how on earth the Prince was able to get them.

And the gems…Mark picked up the box. Even that itself was worth quite a bit. There were at least a dozen gems inside and Mark knew the type of gem had been purposeful. Mark wanted to keep them, but he must send them along to his mother. She could afford clothes and shoes for herself and all his siblings for the coming winter months. And if their garden failed, she could purchase food from the village stalls to preserve in the autumn.

Mark laughed aloud, filled with joy. He could send his mother plenty to make her happy and his dear Prince had thought of him in all the chaos since they’d returned. It made Mark feel almost… _loved?_

Mark quickly went to the mirror to smooth his doublet and fix his hair. Derian was in the drawing room with his father and some more important nobles right now. Mark decided to go wait for him so he could thank him for his kind gifts in person.

* * *

Mark lingered outside of the drawing room.

Within, he could hear the voices of the King and other men Mark did not know. Mark sat in a window seat across the hall and occupied himself by gazing out of the window into the gardens. It was a lovely day, and Mark wondered if the Prince might want to go for a walk. Mark smiled as he thought about serenading the Prince among the lovely flowers and trees.

Voices rose in the drawing rooms and a few men emerged, brushing the curtains aside and striding down the hall. Mark got up from the window seat so that when the Prince emerged Mark would be seen. He could hear the voices of the the Prince and the King just inside the curtain, but they had not yet come out. Smiling, Mark approached to be right in the Prince’s view when he finally emerged, but something caught his ear as he drew closer.

Derian and his father were talking about… _him_.

Mark leaned forward a little to listen.

“The lessons taught you well, my son,” the King was saying. “Young Mark Wolcott is a fine player and a fine teacher.”

“Indeed, father,” Prince Derian replied. “He has helped me tremendously. The Princess was quite pleased, I think.”

Mark smiled to himself at the compliments. He strained to hear more.

“She was very impressed, I could see,” the King went on. “Now that you’ve impressed her with your talents, I do not think the lessons are necessary anymore. The song you learned should be enough. Now, we must discuss negotiations for your marriage.”

“No more lessons?” The Prince replied with a tone of surprise. “But, father, shouldn’t I continue? In case Her Grace would like to hear more?”

“You must not waste anymore of your time on such frivolities,” the King insisted. “Her Grace was impressed enough to say as much to her father. The lute lessons served their purpose. We can send him along to a fine household in the country with a wonderful recommendation. Now we must move along to the next steps.”

Mark stood as still as a stone statue. No more lessons? Hadn’t the King, only so recently, thanked Mark for what he’d done to improve the Prince and prepare him to play for the Lady? Mark could not believe it. Certainly, Derian would not stand for it.

When Derian spoke again, his voice was small. “Yes, father. I suppose you are right.”

“Of course. Now come along.”

The curtains parted and out came the King. Mark pressed himself up against the wall so he was not seen. But when Derian came out, Mark caught his eye. Derian’s face reddened slightly.

“Oh, Mark,” he said with surprise. “I was not expecting to see you.”

Mark frowned. “I heard everything.”

Derian opened his mouth and closed it.

Mark shook his head. “Surely, you could have protested more.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “It was our time. To be alone.”

Derian averted his gaze. “I’m sorry. It was only that…if my father…there’s…” He trailed off and bit his lip.

Mark tried to stand straighter, lifting his chin. “I understand perfectly. I only wanted to come thank you, _Your Highness_ , for your thoughtful gifts. But I see now they were only sent as consolation.”

Before Derian could respond, Mark turned abruptly, and marched down the corridor, away from the Prince.


	11. Chapter 11

At first, Derian tried to deny he’d done anything wrong.

Before dinner that evening, he sat in his rooms, mostly alone, in front of the fireplace. He thought about it as he stared into the flames: argue with his father? Over something as silly as lute lessons? No one, not even the handsome and talented Mark Wolcott, could have expected him to do that.

And besides - the goal was met. Mark had taught Derian a simple song to trick the Princess of Rosebourgh into believing he could play her favorite instrument. All in order to take her hand in marriage and bind Rosebourgh and Cordesia forever. And ensure Derian had a son of the greatest royal blood to reign after him.

And it all rested on the simple fact that Derian and his father had used Mark to cover up a lie.

Derian hung his head and bunched his fists. His _father’s_ lie. Oh, why had he gone along with it? It brought him close to Mark, sure enough, but it was only meant to be temporary. Mark should have known that as well. But as Derian tried to reason it all away, he knew deep down inside that Mark was hurt because Derian had not fought to keep him. And he could have. He could have told his father to keep Mark in the Palace’s ensemble of musicians as a special favor to the Queen. But Derian had not said such. He did not know what he’d been thinking. Perhaps it would have been easier without Mark within the Palace, the temptation removed entirely.

But Derian did not want to give up Mark entirely. He should, he knew he should, but he was damned if he wanted to! He could not believe how much he’d grown to care for the boy since they’d left Rosebourgh. Such a short time, really, but long enough.

Long enough to learn the sensitive spots of the lute player’s body; the kind of sounds he made when Derian caressed and kissed him. The way his soft umber hair felt between his fingers; his sweet breath in Derian’s ear, whispering: _my Prince, my Prince, my dearest Prince._

The feel of his thick cock deep inside him, fucking him, and filling him up.

Derian stood up from the table. He’d been sitting by the fireplace all evening. He’d sent most of his servants away, but a few remained. He strode over to Archerd who was minding the clothes press.

“Fetch me the lute player, Mark Wolcott,” Derian ordered.

Archerd lay an armful of doublets in the press. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

Derian felt a jab of impatience. “You heard me. Bring him to me. Now!”

Archerd timidly bowed. “Please, Your Grace, there will not be time for music. Do not forget you are to meet your sisters and -”

Derian threw his hands up. “I care not! Now go!”

Archerd skittered nervously from the bedroom and through the curtain of the anteroom. Derian sank into a chair, a wave of guilt rushing over him for being so brusque with good and loyal Archerd. His feelings were causing him distress and Derian was mostly angry at himself. He should not have been so cowardly before, but he would make it up to Mark. He would go on his knees to apologize if he had to.

Derian left his bedroom and went to sit by the front fireplace. He wanted to be there when Archerd brought Mark to him. The longer Derian sat and waited, the more upset he became. How could he have behaved so? And with Mark overhearing. Minutes ticked by until nearly three quarters of an hour had passed and Derian's distress and impatience grew. 

At long last, Derian heard someone’s footsteps in the anteroom. When Archerd appeared, Derian stood. But there was no one with Archerd. Derian stared at him in confusion, but before he could speak, Archerd held up his hands.

“I am sorry, Your Grace,” Archerd said quickly. “I was unable to find Mark Wolcott at first. When at last I found him alone in the gardens, he refused to come outright. I did not know what to do. The lad seemed quite vexed. He said he must meet with Lysley before dinner to plan the music and left me straight away.”

Derian said nothing for a moment. He felt his heart drop to his feet at the thought of Mark so angry that he’d refused to come.

Archerd took a tentative step towards him. “My deepest apologies, Your Grace.”

Derian lowered his head. “It’s all right, Archerd.”

“I tried,” the man offered.

“I know.” Derian’s shoulders slumped as he sat back down.

Archerd looked at Derian with sympathy. “If Your Grace wishes for music to cheer him, perhaps I might fetch the sackbut player? Or surely Lysley can spare his crumhorner for half of an hour?”

Derian shook his head. “Thank you, but no, Archerd. Please leave me. I’d like to be alone.”

Archerd backed towards the doorway, then hesitated. “Do not forget: you are to meet with your sisters and step-mother. The Queen’s lying in comes soon.”

“Yes, very well.” Derian waved Archerd away.

After the man was gone, Derian stayed where he was, staring into the dwindling flames of the fire. He had upset Mark more than he thought. But it was no matter. Derian would seek him out after the dinner. He would go straight to the musician’s box and take him to the side. Perhaps he could even catch Mark’s eye as they dined.

Derian would make up for his unfortunate words. He was determined to do so.

* * *

Derian was seated beside his father and on the other side of him sat Naeveen. He usually would not have minded the arrangement, but Naeveen’s chatter distracted him and his father’s presence irritated him. Each time he looked up towards the musician’s box, Naeveen was elbowing him, chattering in his ear about things he cared nothing about. Or his father was leaning towards him to smile slyly and comment on how none of the ladies at court matched Matilde’s beauty and humility.

Derian was already frustrated. It was difficult for him to maintain his composure, and he did not want to begrudge his sister this evening. Tonight her visibility was raised because soon potential grooms would be brought before her. With Derian’s marriage arrangements underway, King Lucius had told Derian it was time to present Naeveen for a husband. And she was excited, he could sense it, as she chattered and smiled. Her ladies had taken great pains with her lovely golden hair by braiding it from her face. They’d arranged it so that it hung down her shoulders in lovely waves. If Derian were not so irritated, he would have been complimenting her.

He made another glance towards the musician’s box in between conversation and sips of his wine. Then he made a quick glance toward Navelle. She was seated away from them, glum and frowning, because she was the second-born daughter and no one cared. Derian had a glimmer of sympathy. If she’d been beside him, rather than Naeveen, her dreary and spiteful talk would have been more tolerable. And, despite Navelle’s spiteful ways, it was not fair she was separated from the rest of her family like an outcast. For a moment, Derian forgot all about Mark and thought to ask his father if she might be able to sit with them.

Before he could say a word, however, the soft notes of a lute filled the Great Hall. Derian cast his eyes upwards to see Mark standing in front of the box, his head down, eyes closed, careless umber hair tumbling over his forehead. Derian felt his heart flutter at the lovely sight of Mark playing his music. There were no verses, no singing, only the notes of the lute, floating through the air. There was a low murmur among the courtiers while Mark played. It was a song Derian had never heard before, but the notes and the way Mark played them, made Derian feel hollow inside. He could not help but feel Mark was playing the song as an expression of his own sadness. Derian’s guilt weighed him down. He could not control the tear that dripped down his cheek.

“Oh, isn’t it lovely,” Naeveen whispered in his ear. “Truly, the boy is talented.”

Derian quickly brushed the tear away. “Indeed. Very much so.”

After the last note of the song faded, there was a round of applause. Derian stood, hoping to catch Mark’s eye before he turned away, but Mark did not give the royal table the least bit of his attention. He made a small bow, then quickly moved from Derian’s view. Derian cursed under his breath. He pushed behind Naeveen as she seated herself again, and made his way to the steps that led to the gallery. Derian swiftly jogged up the steps and just as he rounded the corner, nearly ran right into Mark.

Mark blinked in surprise at first, then his eyes narrowed, his lips drawing tight.

Derian’s heart hammered. “Where are you going?”

Mark tried to walk around him, but Derian stopped him. “Please, Mark. I am sorry about before, truly.”

Mark attempted to go around him once more, but Derian stopped him, trapping him inside a recess in the stone wall. “Please do not walk away from me. I was a fool. And a coward. I could not argue with my father. It was a grave mistake. Oh, Mark, I am so very sorry.”

Mark’s hard look faltered a little. Then he lifted his chin, turning his head away. “I know not what you mean, Highness. For our lessons have ended as His Majesty said, and I’m to be sent away from the palace. You’ll be pleased to hear Lysley will be sure to give me the highest of recommendations.”

“Mark,” Derian grit his teeth. “Please do not be this way with me. I am sorry. You will not be sent away. I will make sure of it.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed even more, but he still would not look at Derian. “I am sure you will, Highness. With the snap of your royal finger, all do your bidding. You thought you could snap your fingers at me, and I’d come running. But it is not so.” Then Mark turned to look at him, and Derian could see his beautiful jade eyes were full of tears. “You must be married soon, Highness. Would it not be best if I were to be sent away?”

Derian pressed against Mark, pushing him against the stone. He searched Mark’s eyes desperately. “Do you want to be sent away?”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Please, Your Highness…”

“Do you?”

“Your Highness…I…”

“What is it?”

Mark’s eyes filled with sadness. “You must be married. The Palace is full of talk. I hear it every day. And what you and I have shared must remain at Lord Dalston’s manor. Don’t you see?”

Derian shook his head, refusing. “No, I do not see! I do not wish to leave it there. Please, Mark. Won’t you come to my rooms, for even now, while everyone is in the Great Hall…”

But Mark slipped between Derian and the wall and made his way out of the gallery, down the stairs, and away from the Prince.

* * *

The King’s chambers were full of courtiers.

Derian marched passed them all with barely an acknowledgment. Great lords and ladies bowed and curtsied as he stormed passed. Derian brushed through a curtain and right past a page boy into his father’s grand study. There was one whole wall of shelves with stacks of important papers, scrolls, and wooden boxes of parchments. The enormous stone fireplace was ablaze to counteract the early morning chill. The King sat in front of it behind a large wooden table, covered in more papers and scrolls, pots of ink, and a pitcher of ale.

As Derian marched into the room, King Lucius was looking over a stack of papers with his comptroller, Theomund. The King was still dressed in his morning robe, while Theomund was fully dressed in his finest, Derian could see, complete with a peacock’s feather in his cap. The sight of Theomund instantly irritated Derian. He did not like the shifty comptroller. He’d met with the man many times with his father as they discussed the business of the Palace and the Treasury. Derian found something about the man untrustworthy, but he’d yet to lay his finger on it.

Both men startled at the sight of Derian striding into the room. Theomund’s thin lips twisted in a grimace as if he’d just been pinched and he bowed low to the Prince. King Lucius looked up from the stack of papers, a look of annoyance around his eyes.

“Derian,” the King said curtly. “I did not hear you announced. What brings you in so early?”

“I demand we keep the lute player, Mark Wolcott, in our pay as a Palace musician.” Derian flashed Theomund a look, hoping he would leave, but the skinny man remained. He returned his gaze to his father. “Just because our lessons have finished, does not mean he needs to be sent away.”

The King looked him over, eyebrows raised. “The lute player? You have burst into my chambers unannounced to discuss the lute player?”

“It is important, father.” Derian felt his heart jump at the men’s strange looks. “It is only that Mark pleases the Queen, my step-mother. And it is well we keep the boy around in case she would like to hear a song.”

King Lucius stared. “The Queen? A song?”

“I have also heard my sisters say they were fond of his verse,” Derian added quickly. “Navelle has said so especially.”

“Indeed, Sire,” Theomund interjected. “I’ve heard the boy is quite popular. Only,” he looked at Derian with mocking thoughtfulness. “I have heard that Your Grace has been most interested in his music. Always requesting the boy to play for you.”

Derian shot Theomund’s mocking face a glare. “Indeed, he amuses me. His talent is great.”

The King shook his head and waved his hand as if to dismiss. “Very well then. Let Master Lute Player stay on. If he is so pleasing to the members of my family, then he shall remain.” He turned to Theomund. “All right, comptroller?”

“Tis fine with me, if His Majesty wants to spare the expense.”

The King’s brows furrowed.

Derian’s momentary relief was invaded by momentary fear. “I shall pay for his board out of my own purse,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. He gave Theomund’s arched brow a pensive look. He lowered his voice, leaning closer to his father. “The boy has a mother and many siblings living in the village of Robishaw. His father died and he is his family’s sole support. And he has a brother in ill health.”

The King frowned and nodded. “I see. Then the expense will be worth the return - preventing hungry mouths in Robishaw and livening our Palace with music.”

Derian smiled as bright as he dared. “Thank you, father.” He turned to leave. “I’ll relay the news at once.”

“Should not Lysley speak to the boy?” Theomund’s mocking voice cut in once more. “Why should Your Grace trouble yourself with such a menial task? I’m sure you and your father have plenty of business to discuss.”

Derian gave Theomund another hateful look. “Yes. Lysley can relay the news.”

The King cleared his throat impatiently. “Fine, fine, fine. All is settled now.” He tapped the stack of papers. “Comptroller, we must continue. Derian, my boy, we shall meet after midday. You may leave us now.”

And with that, Derian turned and left his father’s chambers, the smile of success upon his face.

* * *

Derian heard nothing from Mark for the rest of the day.

It worried him. Surely, Lysley had received the news and told him. Derian sent a page to Lysley to confirm and by the afternoon knew that Lysley had indeed told Mark he would remain in the Palace’s ensemble. Still, Derian heard nothing and he could not get away from his father and the damned business with the Princess. King Bowdyn had sent them gifts - fruit from his orchards, flowers from his gardens, and a trunk full of elegant dresses for Naeveen and Navelle.

Derian ignored his sisters as they awed over the fine fabrics, holding them up to themselves in the mirror, while Queen Albiona arranged the flowers in her chambers and ate the fruit with the King. He did not partake in any of it. King Bowdyn had sent his goodwill, but Derian had none for anyone but Mark.

Before dinner, Derian sent a page boy with a gift of Cordesian wine and pastry for Mark’s table. When the boy returned, he said Mark took the gifts with not a word. Perplexed, Derian sent the boy again, this time with a satchel made of the finest tooled leather and the pockets filled with fresh quills and ink. Again the boy returned empty-handed, saying Mark had said nothing and had no message. Derian sent the boy once more with a gilded music stand Derian had received from Master Strang in his old household. And, once more, the boy came back with nothing and shaking his head.

Derian had enough.

He stormed down the halls to Mark’s room to find it empty. He’d taken his lute and was perhaps joining the ensemble to get ready to play for dinner. Derian was off to burst into the servant’s quarters when Navelle caught him by the arm.

“There, brother, where are you off to before dinner?” She was wearing one of the new dresses from King Bowdyn. They were likely throw-aways from Matilde’s closet, but Navelle did not seem to mind. She held an elegant fan made of ostrich feathers to her cheek.

“I am off to nowhere,” Derian sighed. “Merely walking about.”

“You were walking with such purpose,” Navelle fanned and stood beside him. “I thought perhaps there was a chase.”

“No chase,” Derian frowned. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” He turned to go.

“Were you seeking the lute player?” Her syrupy-sweet voice called after him.

Derian stopped. His heart was already thudding, but it began to thud harder. He turned, making a face. “What of the lute player?”

Navelle waltzed over to him, one brow raised. “Did I not overhear you telling father I gushed ever so much over his talent?”

Derian looked away. “I only thought that…I heard you - it was only -”

Navelle laughed. “Worry not, brother. I know you were only trying to keep him in employ. I heard the whole thing.”

Derian frowned deeper at her. “What on earth were you doing listening?”

“I was merely walking by,” she replied easily, a saucy smile on her bowed lips. “You know, off to nowhere. Merely walking about.” She continued down the corridor, fanning herself, her long golden hair flowing behind her.

Derian stared after her irritably, and then continued to the servant’s quarters, but before he’d made it even ten steps he saw his step-mother emerging from her rooms with her ladies and coming towards him. Derian stopped himself before he huffed in frustration and rolled his eyes. He quickly bowed as she drew near.

“Good evening, Derian,” she said with a tight smile, putting a hand on her growing belly.

“Good evening,” Derian replied.

“I thought you were with your father.”

“No. Well, I was. We ended our business early.”

“Indeed.” Albiona smiled. “I’m sure he wanted to make sure the Great Hall was in order.” Then she shook her head. “Although I don’t know why he takes on those things, when he could just as easily have you do them. I know it seems trite, but your father’s leg and all. And you’re so young and able.”

Derian blinked at her. “The Great Hall? Ready for what?”

Queen Albiona looked at him as if he were a stooge. “The Prince of Devonia, of course. Come to court your sister.”

Derian felt his heart skip and a stone form in his belly. He’d forgotten about the Prince’s visit. His father had mentioned it to him many times - several times that day even - but Derian’s mind had been somewhere else.

“Yes, of course,” Derian replied, trying not to appear flustered. “Of course, His Grace will be most welcome.”

“Will you go down to the Great Hall and join your father?” Queen Albiona asked, laying a hand on his arm. “You know his pride and all. Not wanting to ask for help. But walking about on that cane tires him out, although he’ll never admit it.”

Derian pursed his lips, wanting to refuse, then remembered the musicians might be in the gallery already, rehearsing. “I’ll go down.” Derian agreed. “I will see you soon.” He gave his step-mother a kiss on the cheek and went down to the Great Hall.

Indeed, it was bustling with servants polishing and hanging the Cordesian standard from the ceiling. There were scullions setting each table with wine and bread. Chambermaids setting garlands of flowers around Naeveen’s chair and the Queen’s. Derian saw his father, leaning on his cane by the kitchens, supervising. Derian looked up to the gallery for Mark or Lysley, but there was no sign of anyone.

As Derian made his way over to the stairs, he saw a head peeking out from behind a tapestry. A golden-haired head with long plaits. Derian got closer and noticed it was Naeveen. Her cheeks colored as Derian approached her.

“I know I’m not supposed to be out of my rooms just yet,” she explained. “I only wanted to see the preparations.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be veiled?” Derian asked.

“Not until I come into the hall,” Naeveen replied. She looked behind him. “The flowers are lovely. I wonder if Prince Ceawlin has arrived.” She beamed. “I have heard he is very handsome.”

Derian felt a stab of protectiveness. “Handsome or not, he’d better behave properly with you. Or else he shall feel my fists.”

“Oh, come now,” she giggled. “The Prince is a most good and proper man. Or so my ladies tell me. Devonian men are known for their chivalry.”

“Even so, I’ll not have some brute pawing at my sister.”

“So protective.” She rolled her eyes in a playful way, then bit the corner of her lips. “Dear Derry, won’t you go forth to the entrance and see if you might spy His Grace’s standard on the hillside road? And if you can get a good look at him as well?” She bat her long lashes.

Derian wanted to shake his head at her folly, but he wanted to get a good look at the fellow as well; before he arrived and Derian had to play the role of noble Prince. Derian knew that role well, but he wanted to be sure to see Mark first.

“All right,” Derian agreed. “I’ll go look for him on the hillside road. But first, will you go up to the gallery and fetch Mark Wolcott for me?”

“Of course. Wait here.” And Naeveen disappeared behind the tapestry.

Curious, Derian looked behind it to see a small passageway and at the end of a narrow stone staircase. He’d never seen it before. He wondered if it were part of the servant’s passages.

He paced impatiently for a few minutes until the tapestry parted again. Naeveen appeared with a bewildered Mark at her side. Derian felt his heart skip and his stomach begin to churn. Mark’s face flushed, and he looked down at his feet.

For a moment or so, Naeveen lingered until Derian asked her to leave them. She gave Derian a look of incredulity and made him promise to look out for Prince Ceawlin on the hillside road before she left them alone. After she was gone, Derian looked around them and went behind the tapestry to be alone with Mark in the passage way.

“Mark, I - ,” Derian began, but he was cut off.

“Sending your sister to get me. Clever trick.”

“It was not a trick. You would not come to me otherwise.”

Mark lifted his chin. “And why must I come to you? Because I am low-born and can be so easily dismissed?”

“I know Lysley relayed the news to you,” Derian said with exasperation. “I made a mistake, and I went to my father to correct it this morning. Please Mark, can’t I be sorry? And do what I can to redeem myself?”

Mark’s stubbornness faltered. “I only wanted you to defend me. I was afraid you were going to cast me aside.”

“Cast aside, no,” Derian grabbed Mark’s arms. “I was merely a coward.”

Mark’s jade eyes searched his own. “I was afraid that when we returned to the Palace…I worried that I would no longer be invited to your bed.”

In a tiny space in Derian’s mind, he acknowledged that it would have been the wise thing. To let what transpired between them stay at Lord Dalston’s and continue no further. It would have been wise, responsible, and proper. Derian knew he was bound for a future that he could not control; a future with a woman who was pretty enough, humble and graceful enough, but he would never love her.

He would never sweat and heat at the thought of lying with her.

He would never crave her touch or her kisses.

He would never dream of her long after she had gone.

“I want you in my bed,” Derian whispered thickly. “Tonight. Tomorrow. Oh, Mark, I have been dying to touch you, to kiss you, since we returned.”

“It is the same for me,” Mark admitted.

“Then come to me tonight,” Derian said hotly, gripping Mark’s shoulders tighter. “Say you will come to me and claim me once again.”

Mark’s features wavered. He leaned into Derian’s grasp, then held back as if he wrestled with something inward. Then he slipped his arms around Derian’s middle, his breath warm against Derian’s lips.

“Yes. I will come,” he breathed. “I will come to you, my Prince, and claim you once again.”

Derian met his lips in a slow collision. He felt as if there were sunbursts in his head as their tongues caressed. He kissed Mark, deeper, and deeper, pulling him close, his cock hardening at the feel of Mark’s firm body pressed against him. Derian’s eager hands began to move towards Mark’s breeches when there was a sound a few feet away from them.

Mark tore himself away, pressing his back to the other side of the narrow passage. Derian turned his head to see Navelle, standing with a smirk at the bottom of the steps.


	12. Chapter 12

Mark’s heart pounded with such force, he thought it might break his breastbone.

There was Princess Navelle at the bottom of the narrow stone stairway, a fan fluttering at her bosom as she gave him and Derian a sidelong glance. For several horrible moments, Mark pictured her running out into the Great Hall to tell the King what she just witnessed. And then the King would beat Mark’s brains out for daring to touch his son. Mark chanced a glance at Derian, who looked frozen in shock. Mark could hardly move a muscle, but at last he remembered himself and nervously bowed to the Princess.

She tossed her head and fluttered her fan. “Well, I suppose the secret is no more.”

Mark swallowed a small lump, his palms sweating profusely. He lowered his head, doing anything to avoid the eyes of the Princess.

“We…It - it was - we were merely -,” Derian stammered out, taking a step towards her.

Navelle interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “Clearly I was mistaken when I thought it was only _I_ among us that knew of the passage way.”

Derian blinked at her. “What?”

“Look at you,” Navelle gestured with her fan, a pout forming on her lips. “You and the lute player as well?” She huffed. “All the Guardsmen might as well march on through.” She kicked half-heartedly at the stone wall. “This is the place I come to get away from Naeveen’s preening and all the talk of your marriage. I can wonder through the passages for hours.”

Mark stared at her, his pulse beginning to slow. He glanced over at Derian.

“Well then,” Derian said cautiously. “We shan’t tell anyone else of the passage, sister, nor that it is your place of solace.” He flicked his eyes to Mark then back to Navelle. “I can pretend I did not see you here. And Mark can do so as well.”

The Princess tilted her head at him, considering. “Very well, I suppose,” she sighed. “As long as Naeveen doesn’t know. It can be rather our secret.”

Derian winced. “She does know. I saw her in here just a little while ago.”

Navelle puffed out her cheeks, “Ohhh! Of course you did!” She crossed her arms. “I suppose as long as you warn me when she’s about, I won’t be vexed with you.”

“Yes,” Derian nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Mark caught Derian’s eye, which glimmered with relief.

Navelle shifted her eyes to Mark, a tiny smirk upon her lips. “I will see you both at dinner?”

“Of course, sister,” Derian replied. He turned to Mark. “Let us go out into the hall. I’m sure you have much rehearsing for the Prince of Devonia.”

Mark nodded in agreement and walked around the tapestry Derian held aside. Once they were out of Navelle’s hearing, Mark finally spoke, “It did not seem she saw us.”

“No,” Derian agreed. “I believe we pulled apart in time.”

“It was close.”

“It was.”

Mark looked at Derian cautiously. “Close enough to change your mind?”

Derian smiled. “No.”

Mark smiled back. “I will see you in your rooms then. Shall I wait for your manservant?”

“Just use the passages,” Derian smiled wider. “Only, be wary of my sisters, I suppose.”

Mark laughed. “I shall make haste.”

Derian’s voice became low and lusty. “And I shall be ready.”

* * *

Mark had a bird’s-eye view of the entire dinner.

Up in the musician’s box, he stood in front with a pipe playing in one ear, a crumhorn in the other, and a cornett just behind him. The tabor player tapped out a jovial rhythm, and Mark tapped his foot as he played along to one of the many galliards Lysley had planned for dining and dancing.

The Prince of Devonia caused quite a fuss. Mark watched him enter the Great Hall with his retinue. Princess Navelle was veiled as she went to greet him with her ladies. Her veil was quite lovely, Mark thought, with embroidered flowers and a headdress set with opal and tourmaline. With her pale pink dress, she almost looked like a bride. Prince Ceawlin wore a cloak of royal blue, a doublet of a lighter blue with gold embroidery. Mark noted every detail as Prince Ceawlin bowed to Princess Naeveen and the King.

Mark watched Prince Ceawlin not because he was handsome or boastful, but because of his great contrast to Prince Derian. Where Derian was quietly royal and humble, Ceawlin boasted of his many skills and power. The Prince of Devonia was even taller and appeared stronger than Derian. As Mark watched him lean toward the Princess, making grand gestures, smiling assuredly, and doing his damnedest to prove he was the one and only choice for marriage, Mark wondered if it were simply the high and royal stature of Derian that drew him. Was he merely behaving like some silly country girl, head in the clouds, and the fantasy of being courted by a Prince?

The welcoming feast for Prince Ceawlin wound down. Scullions brought in the last courses consisting of sweet breads and fruits. Fruit native to Devonia had been imported to please the Prince. From what Mark could see in the musician’s box, it appeared the Prince was quite pleased. He smiled at Princess Naeveen, but through her veil Mark could not make out her expression. For a moment Mark tried to imagine what it would be like to be a part of such a feast; to converse with royalty from other lands and be sought out for marriage. In a way, he was envious of Derian.

The dancing started and Lysley guided them into a lively piece he’d written just for the occasion. Mark caught a few glances down below of Prince Ceawlin leading Naeveen through the steps of the dance. He looked over to see Derian sitting alone as the King and pregnant Queen got up to go speak to the Devonian Ambassador who had come with Ceawlin. As Mark watched Ceawlin with Naeveen, he noticed how attentive he was to her. He stood close to her during the dance, leading so gallantly, smiling, never taking his eyes away from her. Mark watched as Ceawlin led Naeveen through a promenade, all the courtiers clapping and watching them with semi-drunken smiles. It was how a Prince behaves with a Princess. It was how a gentleman treats a lady.

It was not at all how Prince Derian treated Matilde.

Mark remembered it. Derian smiled at Matilde enough. Led her through many dances and bowed to her. But something had been missing. He had not looked upon Princess Matilde with interest or intrigue. Derian appeared as if he’d wished to know the Lady no further. And as if he’d been distracted.

Derian looked up and Mark caught his eye. He smiled and Mark smiled back. A warmth spread through him as he looked down at the Prince, the handsome and humble Prince of Cordesia, the one he would go to that very night.

Yes, Derian had been distracted. And Mark knew then what was missing, what made him so different from Prince Ceawlin. And Mark knew then, as he stared into the Prince’s soft brown eyes, that this was no passing lust and, without Mark knowing, had slipped out of his control. His heart swelled and sang, ached and pained, and a realization washed over him.

He loved the Prince. He loved him with all his heart.

* * *

It was near midnight before all was quiet outside of Mark’s room.

Prince Ceawlin and Princess Naeveen were ceremoniously put to bed - in separate rooms of course - but Mark heard the pattering feet of servants up and down the corridor. They were either secreting the Prince or Princess to the other’s room, or patrolling the corridor to make sure that very thing did not happen.

Mark waited a few more minutes before slipping out of his room and finding the doorway behind a wall hanging. He stepped into the passageway and, being sure to listen for any footsteps or voices, made his way in the direction of the Prince’s rooms. It was better they did it this way. Mark knew eventually suspicion would rouse in someone if the Prince’s manservant was always retrieving Mark in the middle of the night. And Mark wanted to protect Derian as much as he could. It was the least he could do, for the risk for Derian was much greater.

Even though Mark knew the love in his heart was as fragile as the autumn leaves.

Mark found the small door that opened beside the Prince’s wood paneled study. He opened it silently and peered out. The rooms were mostly dark with the exception of glowing, flickering candlelight coming from under the curtain that separated Derian’s bedroom from the rest of his chambers. Mark cautiously went forward and parted the curtain. Within he saw Derian sitting on his bed, clothed in only his breeches, he looked up to see Mark and Mark strode forward as Derian rose.

As Derian opened his mouth to speak, Mark covered it with his own mouth, kissing the Prince deeply. His tongue invaded Derian’s mouth as he tugged off Derian’s breeches. Derian made a low growl in his chest and began pulling off Mark’s doublet and undershirt.

Derian pulled his lips away. “Oh, the wait for you is agony. Sheer agony.”

Mark lapped his tongue at the corner of Derian’s lips, making Derian groan. “I agree,” Mark said. “Agony.”

They fell upon the bed, removing more clothing, tossing it aside, until they were both completely nude. Mark felt the Prince’s hard, damp cock up against him as he kissed a path down Derian’s neck.

“I must have you inside me,” Derian rasped out. He turned onto his stomach, pulling up one knee to angle his hips. “Please, Mark. Claim me.”

Mark lay beside the Prince and turned him so that he was on his side, his back facing Mark. “Might we try it this way, Highness?”

Derian groaned his assent as Mark slathered oil on his fingers, slipping one then two inside him. Mark kissed the back of Derian’s neck as he slowly fingered Derian’s opening. Derian whined with want and pushed his hips back against Mark’s hand, wanting Mark to stroke the sweet spot inside him.

Mark moaned and quickly oiled up his cock and slipped it inside the Prince. Derian lifted his outer knee to his chest to open himself up more. Mark lay behind Derian, his chest to Derian’s back, his breath panting warmly in Derian’s ear as he thrust in and out. He reached down to stroke Derian’s cock while he fucked him, and Derian’s was leaking a stream of dew, coating Mark’s fingers as he vigorously pumped Derian’s cock in time to his thrusts.

Derian reached behind him, placing a hand on Mark’s hip. He squeezed as Mark thrust deeper. Mark enjoyed the angle as the Prince’s hot channel felt tighter against his cock.

“Mmmm, my Prince,” he whimpered into his ear.

“Mark, my love.” Derian turned his head to catch Mark’s lips, kissing him hotly, his tongue slippery in Mark’s mouth.

Mark’s heart warmed at the words and went straight to his cock as he pounded into Derian harder and deeper.

A high-pitched cry came from Derian. “Oh! There! Please don’t stop!”

Mark obeyed the command, angling his cock to hit that spot over and over. Derian began to tremble, his fingers digging into Mark’s hip, as he frantically drove Mark to fuck him harder and faster. With a loud cry, Derian spent hot gushes all over Mark’s fingers, drops splattering on Derian’s chest, his chin, and all over the coverlet. Mark slowed his pumping hand and his thrusts and as Derian tensed once more and spent another thick line of cream. Mark felt the warm splashes on his hand, as he kissed the back of Derian’s neck.

Derian gasped and squeezed Mark’s hip once more. “Fill me. Claim me as your own.”

Mark moaned, made two hard thrusts, and spilled inside the Prince. His climax shook him as he spent inside Derian, gasping and crying out.

Derian groaned in response, holding himself still as Mark’s cock pulsed gushing seed inside his tight, warm channel. When Mark finished, panting into Derian’s neck, his cock softening, he kept it inside Derian, not wanting to break the connection just yet. Derian lazily brought Mark’s hand to his lips, lazily licking the seed from Mark’s fingers. Mark was so worn and drained, all he could do was let out a tiny hum of pleasure. He kissed Derian’s neck, his shoulders, then slowly slipped out his cock. Derian turned immediately to him, wrapping his arms around him, and kissing him hotly. Mark nipped at Derian’s lip, sucked his tongue, the faint taste of Derian’s spend in his mouth. God, he would never be able to stop kissing him.

“My love,” Mark murmured before he could stop himself.

Derian pulled away, his deep brown eyes searching. “Do you mean it…your love?”

Mark stared into the only eyes he wanted to look into, the only face he wanted to see, the only arms to hold him, the only lips to kiss him. He did not want to know another man. He did not want to love another man.

“Yes,” he whispered, stroking the Prince’s cheek with his thumb. “You are my love. My only true love.”

The Prince blinked, his lips curling into a soft smile. “And you,” he nuzzled into Mark’s neck, his cheek, “are mine.” He ran his hands down Mark’s back, pulling him as close as he possibly could. “I love you, Mark Wolcott. I love you with all my heart.”

And Mark’s heart felt as if it may burst and bleed Derian’s name for all time. Warmth spread through him as he smiled. “And I love you, my dear Prince, with all of my heart.” And he sealed those most sacred words with a kiss.

* * *

“Is it close to morning?” Mark asked.

He lay perpendicular to Derian, his head on Derian’s chest. They’d closed and tied the bed curtains, sealing in their body heat and that earthy musk of lovemaking that intoxicated Mark. They had not slept a wink since their coupling. They had talked, kissed, and Mark did not want to slip into unconsciousness and dream, for no dream could be better than this.

“I know not,” Derian replied. “And I care not.” He ran his fingers through Mark’s hair.

Mark did not want to be caught in the Prince’s bed and endanger him, so he cared a little. But he also did not want to disrupt this sweet peace. Being with his love, safe, and hidden - it was like they were in their own world.

“Have you had word of your brother?” Derian asked.

The thought the Prince spared for his family warmed Mark all over. “When we returned, they wrote to me and said your physician came to see them. My mother said Nevill is much improved already, and she is most grateful to Your Highness for your kindness.”

“I am glad to hear it. And happy to help where I can.”

“I do not know how I nor my family could ever repay you.”

“I ask not for repayment.” Derian slid his hand down Mark’s chest and Mark took it, kissing his palm, his wrist. “It is not needed. I only want your brother to be well and you and your family happy.”

“I am happy in your presence.” Mark turned, perching himself over the Prince. “I am happy by your side, in your arms.” He lay a gentle, breathless kiss on Derian’s lips. “In your bed.”

As Derian gazed up at him, his brown eyes shining with such love for him, Mark knew that he would do anything to protect the Prince. Anything to please him. Anything to comfort him and make sure he was never left without affection ever again.

“This is how it should be,” Derian said. “All those songs and poems I learned as a boy make sense to me now. Master Strang, the music teacher in my household, tried to teach me to sing.” Derian smiled at the memory. “You should have heard me, Mark, I was terrible. I hadn’t the voice for it.”

Mark smiled back. “I hardly believe it.”

Derian laughed. “Well, it is true.” He looked around as he spoke, as if searching his memories. “There was a song he wanted to teach me, an old tune. You may know it, it was: ‘Come To Me, Oh Dearest Love’ written in this old, chanting style. Oh, it bored me so.”

“I know the song,” Mark interjected with a grin.

“I knew you would,” Derian grinned back. “And so, Master Strang took great pains to teach me. But, as I said, I had not the voice for singing. But there was a line he taught me, the most beautiful line he said he’d ever heard in the chorus. It went something like: _my heart heaves heavy as the heavy winter’s snow, but when, my love, you draw near - “_

_“- my heart becomes light as if it may grow, and such warmth, hotter than the sun, appear,”_ Mark joined with a dreamy smile.

Derian laughed. “Yes. Precisely. I did not understand it back then.” He stroked Mark’s cheek with his fingers so tenderly. “But, oh dearest Mark, I understand it now.”

“And how so?” Mark whispered, turning his head to kiss Derian’s fingertips.

“When I think of you, I feel light. I feel like air. Like I could expand my limbs and stretch them across the lands. And a warmth does come over me, as if I am covered in fine furs in the midst of winter’s icy breath.”

“Perhaps His Highness should be composing verse.”

Derian laughed again. “It is a talent reserved for only a special few. A secret society, for which you are a part.”

Mark bent his head to kiss Derian, but the kiss continued, lazy and soft at first, then growing heated and passionate. Mark moved so that he was in between Derian’s legs, his forearms on either side of Derian’s shoulders. He nipped at Derian’s lower lip, his chin, all along his jaw, making Derian groan. He felt Derian’s cock stir beneath him as his own began to swell. Mark reached through the curtain for the oil. After slicking it along his cock and Derian’s opening, he sat back on his knees, pushing Derian’s legs up for better access to his entrance. He guided the tip of his cock and began to push inside, looking down at Derian beneath him.

They’d never been face to face before. And Mark could look down and see Derian’s cock hard and throbbing against his stomach; the slight flush on his cheeks and neck; and the flicker of want in his eyes as Mark penetrated him. Mark locked eyes with him for a few moments as he pushed inside until their hips touched. Mark carefully moved forward, resting on his hands, and resting his forehead against Derian’s. For a few moments, Mark did not move. He only felt, breathed, and listened. He felt his heart thudding out a rhythm in his chest, his skin warm against the Prince’s; he breathed in the scent of Derian beneath him - his sweat, his his breath, the sweet musk of his skin; and he listened to Derian’s soft breath, a low “mmmm” as Derian slid his hands up Mark’s arms to grip his shoulders.

Keeping his eyes closed, head resting against Derian’s, Mark began to move his hips. He bit his lip at the exquisite way Derian opened for him then closed around him; allowing him inside then clenching to keep him there. Mark felt Derian’s legs come round him, ankles hooking together over his arse. The simple act drove Mark deeper as he spent time giving Derian long, slow thrusts, drawing out nearly to the tip before plunging back in again. Derian tilted back his head and kissed Mark’s face - forehead, cheeks, then lips. Mark groaned, his mouth opening against the Prince’s swallowing his breath. Mark thrust quicker, eliciting another groan from them both. He kissed the Prince deeply, sloppily, his arms beginning to tremble.

Mark had never felt this between himself and another person before. He’d never felt so connected to anyone nor as if he was losing himself inside of someone else. And it was so with Derian. The knowledge of anything or anyone else left Mark completely as he made love to the Prince. The feeling enveloped him as he straightened his arms, arching his back to drive into Derian deeper. Mark made sure to drive his cock into that sweet spot, causing blubbering phrases to utter from Derian’s mouth: _yes, oh, yes, Mark, please, oh, I need you so!_

Mark thrust and thrust, opening his eyes to see Derian looking up at him watching his face. Mark slowed his pace for a moment, reaching out with one hand to tenderly stroke Derian’s cheek. Then he pound into him vigorously, until he cried out, spending thick, creamy ropes of seed into the Prince. Derian clenched around him, as if pulling at Mark’s cock for more. Mark shuddered and shook as if there were dozens of tiny explosions happening inside him. As his climax slowed and his spendings filled the Prince, he reached a shaking hand to the Prince’s cock. He gave it two good yanks before Derian was crying out, his seed gushing between them and coating Mark’s fingers.

Mark gently pulled himself out of Derian. He reached for a cloth to clean all the sweat and seed from their bodies - right after being sure to lick some from the Prince’s chest. He curled up in the Prince’s arms, as the morning birds began their song, feeling warm and safe and the most content he’d ever felt.

Derian brushed a damp lock of hair from Mark’s forehead. “I love you.”

Mark closed his eyes, placing one hand over the Prince’s heart. “I love you.” He felt the slowing beats behind warm skin and sturdy bone. “With all my heart.”

Derian opened his mouth to reply, but they heard a noise. A scraping noise just inside the Prince’s rooms.

Mark froze, the contented feeling retreating like a tide. Derian raised his head as they both listened.

There was another scraping noise. Only it sounded as if it came from within the stone walls. Derian parted the curtain and looked out. “Archerd?”

There was no reply.

“Wouldn’t we have heard the door?” Mark suggested.

“I suppose.” He kissed Mark’s forehead. “Stay here a moment. I will make sure.”

Derian put on his robe, parted the bed curtains, and stepped out. Mark stayed within, pulling a blanket to his chin. The Prince’s chambers were quite large. There was his bedroom, his study, the antechambers, and a myriad of other smaller rooms for his servants to use. It was closed to morning, so Mark feared it was possible a servant entered to do their morning duties and heard them. Mark trembled at the thought. He could not allow them to be caught. The Prince’s reputation would suffer greatly.

After a few minutes, the curtains parted and Derian re-entered the bed. He removed his robe and snuggled under the coverlet, and Mark tangled his legs in his.

“It was nothing,” Derian reassured. “Perhaps a bird or the sounds of an aging Palace.”

“Perhaps,” Mark repeated. He placed a hand to Derian’s cheek. “I must not stay much longer. For your servants will most assuredly begin to arrive.”

Derian took Mark’s hand and kissed it. “If we are quiet, they will not know you are here.”

“And it may be so, my Prince, but I must also think of Lysley. He sometimes seeks me out in the mornings.”

Derian sighed. “You are right. It is only that I do not want to be without you.”

“Nor I you.” Mark kissed Derian’s cheek and sat up. “I should return to my room.”

Derian bit his lip, lowering his gaze.

Mark tilted his chin up. “Please do not be so. I will return in the evening.”

Derian gazed up at him regretfully. “I wish it were easier for us. That we could lay about the day in my bed, with not a care to anyone nor anything. And I wish I did not have to part with my love at day’s first light.”

“I wish it were so, too.” Mark caressed the curve the Prince’s jaw. Despite the love he felt within himself and the love he felt from the Prince, Mark knew it would not be enough. Greater forces were at play. Ones to take the hand of a Princess and place it in the hand of a Prince. Ones to one day make that Prince a King and hand him a vast kingdom. And within all of that, Mark would be a whispering ghost of the past. Perhaps a pleasant folly the Prince could remember as he watched his children grow.

“I shall return later,” Mark promised, giving Derian one more kiss.

He stepped outside the bed curtain, dressed, and quickly went to the little door in the Prince’s study. He stepped inside the passage, closing the door behind him. As he quickly walked along, stepping through semi-darkness - the only light coming through the cracks of other doorways and through sheer curtains - Mark thought he saw someone at the end of the passage.

At first, he assumed it was a servant. Whoever it was, held up a candle and appeared to be wearing a cloak. As he drew closer, he saw the person was standing just on the other side of the wall where his room would be. Mark frowned and tried to see the servant more clearly. He wondered if it were Archerd, but saw they had a feminine form. The servant turned, appeared to see him, and skittered away down another hallway. Mark moved quickly to try to follow them, but when he turned the corner they were already gone.

Mark blinked at the empty, dim corridor. He rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he needed to sleep. And so Mark went to his room to do just that.


	13. Chapter 13

Derian sat stiffly in his father’s study.

His shoulders ached from slouching over an account book and his stomach grumbled. He’d been closed up in his father’s study all morning long with the King and shifty Theomund. And it looked as if they would be shut up inside for a few hours longer. Derian was unable to concentrate, his mind constantly thinking about Mark.

They were searching the Palace’s treasury accounts for the past year to find extra funds. Derian’s wedding would mostly be paid by King Bowdyn, as was tradition. But since Derian’s and Matilde’s wedding would take place in Cordesia and would be attended by many far and wide, the King was anxious to make it quite a spectacle. Derian knew it was to show him off - the young and gallant son of King Lucius, an extension of his father’s manhood. But it was also to give the people something to celebrate. There were rumors that sickness was spreading through the lowlands, and the hard rains had ruined the summer crops in the plains.

Not to mention, King Lucius would be responsible for Naeveen’s wedding, expected to come not long after Derian’s - if all went well with Prince Ceawlin’s courtship, of course. Even though Naeveen would not, and could not, expect to have a wedding as grand as her brother’s, the King wanted to make it a spectacle as well. She was the first-born daughter, a Princess the people loved. It was almost expected that Princess Naeveen of Cordesia should have better than her foreign counterparts.

“Dalston and some other Lords living by the forests paid little in taxes last year,” Theomund noted idly. “Perhaps it is time for another increase on our nobles, Sire.”

“I know Dalston’s tricks well enough,” King Lucius replied, skimming a scroll of Palace inventory. “And those around him have attempted the same deceptions, and I’ve ask Master Tax Collector to be sure Dalston and the other Lords pay their due this year. Lest Dalston forget I have seen all his _collections_.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But their share will come after our celebrations. It does not help us now.”

Theomund folded a ledger in his lap. “We can collect them early this year. The Earl of Lawter in the lowlands and the Duke of Sayne by the borderlands have been calling for it. They are anxious to please His Majesty.”

Derian knew that was a lie, and merely Theomund’s attempts at flattery. He closed the account book he’d been poring over and stretched his arms. “Father, I have told you: I do not need such extravagance. King Bowdyn will be happy to pay for anything his only daughter desires. Weddings are not for grooms. Only brides. Everyone knows.”

The King laughed. He rubbed his eyes and set down the scroll. Derian wondered if he could even read it. His vision was beginning to fail in his old age.

“Ah, you are clever, son,” the King said. “Clever, but that is not entirely true. Weddings _are_ for the grooms - wedding _nights_.” He laughed again, nudging Theomund so hard, he nearly dropped the ledger.

Derian felt his cheeks color and his stomach sink as Theomund laughed along with the King. It was getting impossible to avoid. Impossible not to think of, especially now, but Derian wanted to fight those thoughts and replace them all with Mark. And Derian certainly did not want to think about his wedding night. He would have to imagine the perfectly lovely Princess Matilde as someone else to get through it.

He would have to pretend she was Mark.

“Oh, Highness, it was merely a joke,” Theomund said, noticing Derian’s frown. “I did not mean to offend.”

“The boy isn’t offended,” the King grinned slyly. “He plays the chivalrous and pious Prince, but I know better.”

Derian’s heart thudded. A flush bloomed all over his skin. “I - I am not offended, I am - it is - “

“It is all a ploy, of course,” the King’s smile widened. “Chivalrous and pious in the daylight, but lusty and virile in the starlight, eh, my son?”

Derian felt his cheeks color even more. It was even worse knowing Theomund could see his humiliation. “Yes, father.”

The King laughed at Derian’s embarrassment. “You shall see, son, you shall see. For all those qualities are needed to govern like a true Cordesian King. Our governance must be just and our causes noble.”

“And our weddings grand,” Theomund added with a touch of sauciness.

The King glanced at Theomund and grunted. “My son and my daughter shall have the grandest of them all.” He reached for his cane. “I must step out for a moment. I will return shortly. Boy!” He half-turned to a page in the corner. “Come!”

The page boy scuttled over so the King could lean on him for support as he rose from his chair. Then he grasped his cane as the page helped him around the desk. The King waved the boy away and limped out of the door into the corridor. Derian was saddened by his father’s condition. He could hardly remember his father as a younger man. It only showed how vulnerable he was now. And how important it was that someone younger and stronger succeed him.

“Her Highness, the Princess, will be pleased.” Theomund said casually after the King was gone. “Her father’s wedding plans for her should be extravagant, indeed.” He gave Derian a curious look. “Might we ask the Princess to come assist with the Palace records?”

Derian picked up the account book again. “That wouldn’t be necessary.”

“It is only that the Princess is so familiar.” Theomund idly flipped the pages of the ledger. “She took most of the responsibility upon herself while Your Grace and His Majesty were in Rosebourgh. Her Majesty, the Queen was much too tired and Her Grace, Princess Navelle was much too occupied.”

Derian absently turned the pages of the account book. “Yes, well, it is good to hear Naeveen was so dutiful.”

“Oh, quite, quite.” Theomund sat back in his seat, crossing one leg over another. He was much too casual. Derian felt a tiny sting of insult. “In fact, Her Grace was well-suited to matters of government. Her interest, attentiveness, and how quickly she learned was most impressive.” Theomund paused. “The Lords especially commented on her skill. The Baron of Halling said she played the Regent with the heart of a king and the grace of a queen.”

Derian glared at the shady comptroller. It was clear as a bell the man intended to insult him, but Derian was not vexed over the statements themselves. He absolutely believed Naeveen had performed the role of Regent flawlessly. Although it was legally the Queen’s duty, she had the power to appoint whomever she chose to govern in her place. Considering her current state, Derian hadn’t thought his step-mother would have been up to the task. But Naeveen was sensible, responsible, and intelligent; and, most importantly, she wasn’t Navelle.

Derian cleared his throat and stood to replace the account book and get another. “I am pleased that my sister was so well-received, and that the Lords thought so highly of her. I shall have to let her know.”

“Let who know,” came the voice of the King as he re-entered. He hobbled to his seat and the page boy appeared at his side to help him sit.

Theomund sat up straighter. “I was relaying to His Grace how well Her Grace, Princess Naeveen fulfilled the Regent role while Your Majesty was away.”

“Oh,” the King said distractedly, sitting heavily in his chair, which creaked under his weight. “Yes, I have heard she was most impressive.” He picked up a parchment and flattened it with his hands. “Naeveen is intelligent enough and will make Prince Ceawlin a happy groom. But she is only a woman.”

“Yes, and our Prince is quite a man.” Theomund turned to give Derian a toothy, exaggerated smile.

Derian ignored him. “Where did you go, father? Are you feeling all right?”

“I am fine, to be sure, son. I was only checking upon the Queen. She has gone for her lying-in and her ladies report her condition to me daily.”

“Oh, I do hope the Queen is comfortable in her chambers,” Theomund continued with his false concern. “Please send word to her that I am thinking of her and ready to provide anything she might need.”

“Your thoughts are appreciated, Theomund,” the King replied, studying the parchment.

“It will be quite a different Palace with a new royal baby,” Theomund blabbed. “And no doubt he’ll be the spitting image of His Majesty.”

The King cut his eyes to his comptroller, and Derian couldn’t decide if he should feel pity for the man or fury.

“We know not what the child will be,” the King said irritably, glancing briefly at Derian. “And besides, my heir sits and governs with me now. The Cordesian throne is safe and stable for her people.”

Derian felt himself shrink on the inside with each and every word.

“And we shall thank God.” Theomund nodded vigorously. He turned to Derian. “We shall thank God for a Prince such as he.”

* * *

Derian curled his fingers into Mark’s thick umber hair, biting his lip to keep quiet.

Derian closed his eyes and listened to the gentle sucking noises as Mark’s delicious lips wrapped around his cock. Mark’s tongue lapped at the tip. Mark’s hand gripped the base as he slid Derian’s cock out of his mouth to run his tongue all along a vein on the bottom. Derian sucked in a breath through his teeth, tightening his grip in Mark’s hair. He opened his eyes and quickly looked around them.

They were out in the gardens, tucked away in a recess in the wall, Derian sitting on a bench while Mark sucked him on his knees. Derian was sure they were alone, but a wild daringness had overcome him after the time spent with his father and Theomund that morning. The sudden thrill of being caught, of taking a risk, made Derian harden to stone in his breeches. He’d sent for Mark, invited him for a walk in the gardens, and suggested he might like a song. The lute now sat against the far wall, completely forgotten, as Mark’s hot mouth engulfed Derian’s cock.

Derian groaned then quickly looked around again. Mark made a hungry sound in his throat, his eyes closed, as he sucked and sucked. Derian glanced around once more, then pulled Mark off his cock. Mark made a noise of protest.

Derian stood. “I want you to fuck me.” He pulled his breeches to his ankles, turned, and bent over the garden bench. “Please fuck me.”

Mark rubbed his cock against Derian’s arse. “Your wish is my command, Highness, but we have no oil.”

“Use your spit,” Derian replied heatedly to which Mark groaned.

He heard Mark spit on his hand behind him and turned his head to see he was also stroking his cock to coat his fingers in his own dew. The sight made Derian groan once more. He turned to face the wall and felt Mark slip a finger inside him. It was only there for a second before there was two. Mark was impatient to be inside him, Derian could sense it, and Derian was impatient, too. The thought of them being found or even watched - of him, the Prince of Cordesia, being seen bent over like a concubine and Mark pounding into him - made Derian’s skin burn with desire.

Derian sucked in a breath as he felt Mark’s cock finally breach his entrance. “Yes,” Derian moaned. “Yes, Mark. Fuck me. Take me.”

Mark whimpered and thrust his prick inside to the hilt, causing both of them to cry out. Derian clenched his teeth as Mark began to fuck him vigorously, the burning increased without the steady slickness of the oil. Derian held himself steady with one arm and used the other to stroke his own cock, which was so hard a stream of dew trickled down his fingers. Derian lifted his eyes to the stone wall and saw there was a small hole. He focused through the hole for a moment and saw someone or something moving around on the other side. It appeared to be a silhouette on the trunk of an orchard tree. Mark groaned, the pace of his hips growing frantic, and Derian blinked. When he looked again the silhouette was gone.

Derian stroked his cock in pace with Mark’s thrusts until he heard Mark cry out and felt the familiar warmth of his seed spurting inside him. Mark’s hips stuttered as he spent again and again, and Derian slowed his strokes to relish the feeling. As Mark’s hips slowed, Derian stroked himself harder and then felt Mark’s hand reach around and cover his.

“Wait,” Mark rasped. “Turn round and spend in my mouth.”

Derian trembled with want, groaning again, and cared not if they were heard. Mark gently pulled out of him, planting a gentle kiss on the back of his neck before he turned around. Mark dropped to his knees, his spent cock half-hard between his legs. Derian plunged his weeping cock into Mark’s hungry mouth. Mark closed his eyes, a sound of want escaping from his throat, as he gave Derian two long, hard sucks before Derian was trembling and gasping and spending in Mark’s mouth. Derian gripped his hair, looking down as Mark looked up, catching his gaze. He watched as Mark swallowed every drop he spent.

After, Derian felt his knees grow weak and he sank back onto the bench. Mark moved between his legs, helping him pull his breeches up, and trying to tie up his own.

“Oh, Mark,” Derian sighed, leaning back against the wall. “Never have I been so happy. Never have I felt such things.”

“Nor I,” Mark replied, taking Derian’s hand to kiss his fingers. “Never did I think I could feel such bliss, such love, with anyone.”

Derian reach out a hand to gently cup Mark’s chin. “Never? With anyone?”

“I hoped for it, of course, and often yearned for it desperately. And wrote verse to express it, but never did I think it could feel like this.”

Derian gazed into those lovely jade eyes, a soft green abyss he wanted so much to fall into and never find his way out of. He opened his mouth to reply, but heard footsteps on the other side of the garden wall. He sat up. Mark stood and took a few steps away from him. The footsteps paused, then changed direction, moving away from them. Derian sat still until they faded away and were gone completely.

He looked up at Mark. “I’m sorry. There’s never anyone out here this time of day. Or so I thought.” He thought of the silhouette he saw through the hole. He stood up.

“It did not sound like they were close enough to hear us,” Mark said behind Derian as Derian walked out of the square to look on the other side of the wall. “Even so, I am sure they saw nothing.”

Derian saw no one among the orchard trees nor in the trimmed shrubs. “I’m sure. I hope.”

“What are you looking for?”

Derian turned to Mark beside him, holding his lute. “I thought I saw someone before. There was a hole in the wall.” He shook his head. “Perhaps I only imagined it.”

Mark gave Derian a strange look. “Perhaps.” He cleared his throat.

Derian glanced around them, becoming habit now, and wrapped his arms around his love, kissing him deeply. Derian could still taste himself on Mark’s tongue. It made his cock harden anew.

Mark reluctantly pulled away. “Perhaps we shan’t press our luck.”

“You’re right,” Derian stepped back, and leaned against the wall. “I’ll see you tonight, then?”

Mark smiled warmly. “You shall, my Prince.”

Mark’s smile made Derian’s heart soar, then he suddenly looked shy. “I have been writing a new song.”

“Have you?” Derian grinned curiously. “Will you play it for me?”

Mark’s shy face looked down for a moment, and when he looked up again, his eyes contained a strange sadness. “Yes, of course. I shall play any song for you.”

Derian leaned forward to give him another tender kiss before they parted, then he made his way back inside the Palace to plan a wedding he did not want.

* * *

It was a lovely, warm afternoon, and Derian thought he might ride his horse across the Palace grounds.

He sent word to the stables to have his horse saddled and ready. He also requested a second horse be made ready. Derian excused himself from his father and Theomund, claiming a headache, and went directly to Mark’s room. He did not mind if anyone saw him. Can’t the Prince visit his lute player if he wished?

Derian knocked but there was no answer. He knocked once more then departed, deciding Mark would be with Lysley. As he made his way through the corridors, he thought he heard someone behind him. Derian stopped and turned but found no one there, so he continued. Derian found Lysley’s rooms on the other side of the Palace, closest to the kitchens. Although Lysley was also a servant, like Mark, he retained finer quarters for his personal service to the King and Queen. Being a composer and a lead musician in a royal household required him to have plenty of room for instruments and mind the Palace’s music library. Derian had only been to Lysley’s rooms once before. It suddenly felt strange to him that they lived under the same roof, but Derian hardly knew him.

Derian entered the front room to find a page boy dozing. He immediately stood upright when Derian drew near.

“Where is your master?” Derian asked the boy.

“He’s within, Your Highness,” he replied, pointing to a curtain. “He converses with Mark Wolcott, the lute player. He shan’t be but a moment more.”

“Thank you. I shall wait here.”

Derian paced the anteroom for a few moments until a lady-in-waiting came to fetch the page boy for an errand. When the boy was gone, Derian could no longer contain his curiosity. He wondered if Mark was telling Lysley about his new song or perhaps they were composing verse. Derian stepped to the curtain, parting it just a smidgen, and listened.

Their voices were low, but Derian could hear some words. It sounded as if Lysley was agreeing to do something for Mark. Derian leaned closer until another voice startled him.

“There you are, Your Grace,” Archerd’s voice came through the doorway. “I beg your pardon, but I have been searching for you everywhere.”

Derian cursed under his breath. “What is it, Archerd?”

He tilted his head, examining Derian standing close to the curtain. “Your father says you have some head pains and suggested I might fetch Dr. Babington for you.”

“There is no need.” Derian stepped away from the curtain. “My pains are not that severe.”

Archerd inclined his head. “Very well, Your Grace.”

Derian opened his mouth to explain why he was here, when the curtain parted and out stepped Lysley and Mark.

“I thought I heard your voice, Highness.” Lysley bowed. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Mark looked at him curiously, and Derian felt his cheeks grow warm. He felt as if his thoughts, particularly those of Mark, were displayed in front of them all.

“Er, no,” Derian replied. “No, I was only coming to find Mark. I thought it was a nice afternoon for a ride and some music to cheer me.”

Archerd furrowed his brows. “Do you think that wise, Your Grace? Might it make your head pains worse?”

Derian glared at Archerd. “As I said: they are not severe. Kindly go and tell my father I will meet with him and Theomund in the morning.”

Bewildered, Archerd bowed and left.

Lysley also furrowed his brows. “I am sorry to hear Your Highness is not feeling well. But I am finished with Mark if you’d like him to accompany you.”

“Thank you,” Derian replied curtly and nodded to Mark. He turned to leave Lysley’s chambers with Mark behind him, when they were far enough way, Mark pulled him into a corner.

“Is everything all right, Derian?”

“Yes, yes,” Derian waved his hands as if clearing up the air. “I just wanted to see you. And get away from my father and that damned comptroller for a couple of hours. But now it seems my head really is beginning to ache.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as a dull pain began behind his eyes.

Mark quickly looked around them to make sure they were alone. “Then I should come take care of you.”

Derian smiled. “Wait a few minutes, then come to my rooms. I’ll send my attendants on some errands.”

Mark nodded and walked off down the corridor. Derian sighed heavily, and turned to go to his rooms. He was only a few steps along when he heard his name. He turned to see Naeveen coming towards him.

“What were you doing with the lute player?” She asked with a half-smile. “Planning your wedding music?”

Derian coughed. “No. Only talking.”

“I see. Well, how are the wedding plans coming along?”

He rolled his eyes, not wanting to be short with her, but losing his patience all together. “They’re fine. Although I don’t know why you’re concerned. You should be worrying of your own.”

Her hurt expression made him wince.

“I’m sorry,” he added. “It is…trying, honestly. The wedding plans.”

She nodded, her features softening. “I can understand that. There’s so much to prepare.” Then she smiled dreamily. “Ceawlin and I would like to have white horses at our wedding. And dancing ladies, if father allows it.”

Derian hadn’t discussed his wedding with anyone other than his father, and even then it was only certain things. He certainly couldn’t talk about it with Mark. Navelle would only be bitter and spiteful. But Naeveen knew the strain and the planning. Hers would come shortly after his. It only made his obligation that much more pressing.

And that much more confining.

“I do not care about the horses or dancing,” Derian said. “I only care that Matilde has what will please her.”

“That’s very chivalrous of you, brother,” Naeveen grinned. “Her Grace will find a wonderful husband in you.”

Derian pursed his lips. “Indeed.”

They parted ways and Derian went to his rooms. After sending away the servants and sending his attendants on errands, he sat on his bed and waited for Mark. As he waited, however, he kept having a curious feeling that he was being watched. He turned around and saw no one. He checked the anteroom, the study, and looked behind curtains and cupboards, but saw no one.

At long last the cabinet door opened, and Mark stepped through. Derian immediately went to him, taking him into his arms.

“Can you stay the afternoon with me?” Derian asked.

“For a few hours at least,” Mark replied. “Until Lysley needs me to rehearse for dinner.”

“Then let us not waste it.” Derian dropped to his knees, undoing Mark’s breeches, suddenly hungry for his thick cock.

Mark was already half-hard when Derian pulled his breeches to his ankles. Mark stared down at him a curious look in his eyes, almost pensive, as he slipped his fingers into Derian’s auburn curls. Derian kept his eyes on Mark’s, allowing those soft jade irises to see straight through him while he slid Mark’s cock into his mouth. He did not take his gaze away as he sucked and pumped his own cock with his hand. He sucked Mark, a warm, wet tug with his lips, until Mark’s eyes squeezed shut and he spent hot, thick ropes down Derian’s throat.

* * *

“I must go. Lysley will be sending for me.”

“Oh, must you.” Derian turned in his bed to wrap his bare arms and legs around Mark’s naked form. He could still feel the boy’s spendings leaking out of him. “The time has gone by so fast. It is only a minute since you arrived.”

“It seems so,” Mark agreed, reaching for his clothing.

Derian watched with disappointment, a sudden feeling of recklessness coming over him. “Don’t go. Stay.”

“I cannot,” Mark replied reluctantly, as he stood beside the bed. He pulled on his breeches and undershirt.

“Why not?” Derian demanded, sitting up on his knees. “Must you play _every_ night? Can’t you say you’re ill?”

“I cannot, Derian,” Mark said gently. He took the Prince’s face in his hands. “Don’t you think it would be suspicious if you nor I showed at dinner this evening? Surely, someone would come to look for one of us.”

Derian leaned his head against Mark’s chest, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Sometimes I do not care if someone did nor if they were to see me like this with you.”

Mark stiffened in his arms, his hand coming up to card through Derian’s hair. “It would ruin you. Your father would have me sent away.”

Derian moved his head to look Mark in the eye. “Then I would go with you.”

Mark opened his mouth a little in surprise, his eyes widening. Derian even surprised himself at the earnestness of his words. _Yes, I would go with him. For it is he I wish to spend the rest of my days with._ Derian felt a sweet warmth coil around his heart, for he knew then that he would never love another as he loved Mark. The feeling was all at once exquisite and terrifying.

Mark leaned down to place a tender kiss on Derian’s forehead. “I must go, my love. I will return tonight.”

Derian reluctantly let him finish getting dressed. Mark made his way toward the passage, then turned around.

“I will leave through the antechamber,” he said. “It is a quicker way to the Great Hall. Plus, all the servants will be below getting dinner and the courtiers ready.”

Derian put on his robe and followed Mark out. When they reached the door, Mark unlatched it and pulled, leaning forward to give Derian another kiss. “I love you.”

Derian kissed him fiercely back. “I love you, too.”

Mark opened the door to leave, and Derian watched after him, a sinking sadness coming over him as he watched is love go. Before he closed the door, he caught sight of someone in his periphery. He turned his head to the left to see who it was, but as his eyes searched the hallway, he found no one there.


	14. Chapter 14

Mark remembered his mother telling him once that lies were like a spider’s web.

They could be spun so intricately, so elegantly, but eventually one always gets caught. Mark took her words to heart, but he knew in this case, he must be untruthful.

For Mark was planning to leave the Cordesian Palace.

He could not bear it. He could not bear to see his love wed to another. The wedding plans continued, Mark knew, in spite of Derian’s words of love to him. He could not be angry. He knew the Prince had no choice…or did he? He was _the Prince_ after all. Couldn’t he speak to his father? Say he liked not the lady and peruse for another bride? To be sure, Prince Derian of Cordesia was the most eligible bachelor in all the lands. Royal households far and wide would be stumbling all over themselves to send their maiden daughters. But, whether it was Matilde or Fayanna, Hollyhark or Lourdes, Derian must choose one.

And Mark must choose to go.

It pained him. It hurt his heart to know that one day he would no longer be able to go to Derian’s rooms for there would be another in his bed. _But what shall I do? Stay, only to be tortured by the sight?_

Mark’s head hung as he rode the horse through the countryside. He’d borrowed it from Lysley, and he carried a recommendation from the composer in his satchel. He’d written new songs to increase his repertoire, worn his best doublet and cap, and told his dear Prince that he was going to Robishaw to visit his family.

It had been almost easy to lie, knowing it was only to protect his already aching heart. And, in a way, protect Derian’s, too.

Thus far, Mark had had a pleasant enough journey. It was high summer and the sun was warm upon his face as he rode westward. The road was familiar to him. He’d only just traveled it a short time ago. It was the road to Rosebourgh - the only place, and the only court in which Mark was guaranteed not to see Derian nor Matilde. For once the wedding day came, the Princess would leave her family home and not return. But there was still a tie, a bind to Derian. Mark would have memories here, a small piece of his love, but still have distance. It was what he needed.

What they both needed.

Certainly, Lysley was shocked when Mark mentioned his desire to move onward. Mark made sure Lysley knew it was not because of him. Other than that, Mark gave no reason. Only that he wished to take a position at a different court.

As Mark rode on at a comfortable pace, the sun began to dip lower behind the mountains. Mark looked out for an inn on the westward road. He had plenty of coins from his Palace salary and a few gems Derian had given him. Mark did not wish to part with them if he mustn’t. He wanted to treasure them just a little while longer.

Behind him, on the road, Mark heard the sounds of another horse’s hooves. Thus far, he had been alone, only passing a few merchants here and there. He turned to look and saw a cloaked figure at some distance behind him, riding a mare at a cantering speed. Mark turned back around and directed his horse to move to the side to allow the stranger to pass. But after a few minutes, the clop-clop of the hooves ceased and Derian saw no one ride past. He turned around once more and saw there was no one on the road. Puzzled, he turned frontwards again and spotted an inn coming up on the side.

Mark led the horse to the stables where a young girl took the reins and led him to a stall. Mark paid the kindly innkeeper extra for a large room that overlooked the lovely meadows. Once Mark had settled into his room, the innkeeper’s wife brought him ale, bread, and slices of pears and apples that, she explained, grew in their own gardens.

After a lonely meal by candlelight, Mark got into the bed suddenly weary. He hadn’t been sleeping long, when a noise awoke him. He opened his eyes to the darkness, and thought he heard someone outside his door. When he got up to see, he found no one there, and wondered if he were dreaming.

The disturbance was short-lived, however, because Mark soon fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

“I must say, Master Wolcott, your credentials are impressive.”

Master Halling, the head musician of the Rosebourgh Palace, looked through Mark’s repertoire and recommendations. They were seated in his chambers at a table set with fine cloth, wine, and fruit. Master Halling was a few years older than Mark and quite handsome. The ebony hair under his cap was thick and long, his eyes shone a stormy gray, and his skin was smooth and fair. Mark noticed Master Halling had his very own servants, and his chambers were much finer than Lysley’s. It was clear the royal family of Rosebourgh thought highly of their musicians, a fact Mark had not noticed before.

“And we are certainly familiar with your songs,” Master Halling continued. “In fact, I believe we will be playing one at the ball this evening. Oh, what is it?” He tapped his chin, thinking. “Quite a jovial tune.”

“Is it ‘O Bless the Flowers of May’?” Mark offered. One of his favorites, and one he’d especially composed for dancing.

Master Halling shook his head. “No, I - oh! Yes, I remember: ‘Sweet Tidings, Spring Cheer’.”

Mark smiled. “Yes, one of my galliards. I wrote it just after I left school.”

One of Master Halling’s servants parted the fine, silken curtain that covered the entryway. “Sir, I’ve just had word the Princess would like to speak with you about the music this evening.”

Master Halling nodded. “Of course. Please let her know I shall be with her shortly.”

The servant inclined her head and left. Mark had never seen a servant treat a head musician with such high respect. He looked around the antechamber and saw fine Omans rugs on the floors and gold plate hanging from the walls. Mark wondered what his rooms might be like here. King Bowdyn certainly provided well for his musicians. Master Halling had mentioned there were fifty on the payroll, far more than in Cordesia.

“Well, Master Wolcott.” Master Halling stood from his chair, and Mark noticed the large rings on his fingers and his overcoat made of velvet. “I shall have to speak with the Lord Chamberlain before I can take on another musician, but I do not foresee an issue.” He walked Mark to the doorway. “Perhaps, we shall say you can begin your tenure here in a month’s time?”

Mark smiled. “Oh, I’d like that very much. Thank you, sir.”

“Of course,” Master Halling smiled with gleaming teeth. “Are you sure you can’t stay for the ball this evening? You can attend as my guest.”

“That’s all right,” Mark replied. “I must be on my way back, but I will be waiting for your message.”

Mark left Master Halling’s chambers and made his way to the front hall. But at the last moment he turned, wanting to find the the guest rooms the Prince had stayed in. Mark would always have fond memories of this Palace. He’d first kissed Prince Derian here and touched the virgin Prince for the first time in those guest rooms. Mark wondered if he could bear it, remembering how it made him feel to be with the Prince so intimately. He would always be reminded if he lived here.

Mark wandered around for a time, trying to recollect where the rooms had been. Just as he’d slipped through another corridor and was turning toward what he thought was the right way, he heard soft footsteps behind him. He thought it might be a servant and he could ask them for help, but when he turned he saw no one at all. Perplexed, Mark walked down the corridor, checking in doorways and window seats, for he was sure he’d heard someone. And then he heard another sound, the giggle of a lady and the low tones of a man, just around the corner of another hallway. Mark followed the sound, hoping to ask where he could find the guest rooms, but stopped short as he turned the corner.

There in the narrow hall tucked in a corner, Mark saw Master Halling smiling at a lady and pressing her hand to his lips. When the lady turned her head, Mark caught the familiar outline of her features, the pleasant tone of her voice, and recognized her as Princess Matilde. Immediately, Mark flattened himself against the stone wall and ducked behind a tapestry hanging over an alcove. He peered through an opening in disbelief. He watched Master Halling take Princess Matilde’s chin in his hand and tilt her face up for a kiss. Mark gasped, then covered his mouth. Just then, he heard the same soft footsteps near him.

Master Halling pulled away from Matilde. “Did you hear that?”

“No, darling,” she replied. “I heard nothing.”

Master Halling stepped away from the Princess. “Who’s there?”

Mark ducked behind the tapestry and into the corner of the alcove. Master Halling hadn’t been looking in his direction, but he wanted to keep out of sight just the same.

“Who’s there?” Master Halling called again.

“Beggin’ your pardon m’lord,” came the country accent of a servant girl. “Was only lightin’ the tapers.” The footsteps quickly walked off and faded away.

Mark held his breath.

“Do you think she saw?” Matilde whispered.

“Nay,” Master Halling replied. “She was round the corner. She did not come this way.”

Mark peeked out again and saw Master Halling take Princess Matilde in his arms. They kissed once more, and whispered to one another words Mark could not hear. Then Matilde quickly walked off down the hallway, her skirts brushing past the tapestry, and Master Halling walked off in the opposite direction.

Mark stood where he was, listening until the footsteps faded, and then he stayed a while longer just to be sure. When he was sure there was no one around, he slipped out from behind the tapestry, and made haste to the exit.

* * *

As Mark rode along the high road back to Cordesia, he fretted and pondered.

_What shall I do?_

On the one hand, telling Derian what he saw would certainly annul any marriage plans. The Prince would be free. Derian could not marry a Princess that was unfaithful. Matilde would certainly be disgraced and her dalliances known.

_But Derian has been unfaithful as well. With me._

And there would be another bride in the future. Mark might be free of the threat of this marriage, but what of another one? It would only delay the inevitable. But still…wasn’t it dishonest if Mark did not tell Derian what he saw? He deserved to know the whole truth. But Derian would know that Mark had lied and gone to Rosebourgh. He would want to know why.

Mark thought about it as he plodded along on the horse, looking for another inn to spend the night. He did not know what to do, but he certainly did not want to explain to Derian how he’d seen the Princess nor with whom.

As Mark went around a bend, he heard branches breaking in the forest around him. The horse’s ears flickered and it slowed.

“Go on,” Mark gently goaded the beast. “It is only the wind.” He flicked the reins and the horse plodded reluctantly forward.

Mark wondered for the first time on his journey how his family was doing. He felt guilty using them as a ruse, but it was the only place he would leave court to visit. He’d received a shakily written letter from Petrus most recently. Mark’s brother wasn’t as good at his letters as Sabina, so it was clear to Mark she’d tried to help the boy. Petrus had written that Nevill was getting better, and Abener was growing so quickly. He thanked Mark for the coins and gems. He told Mark they’d salvaged some of the produce in their garden after the hard rains and were able to repair a piece of the fence that kept in the sheep. Mark had thought of them little as of late. He’d been so occupied and distracted with the Prince.

Just then, Mark heard more branches snapping in the woods, dozens of them. His horse stopped, rearing back, and Mark tugged on the reins. Suddenly he saw several figures rushing at them from behind the trees. Figures with dirty faces and dirty clothes - and knives. Mark yelped as the gang of thieves descended upon him so quick, he couldn’t get the horse under control in time. Before he could blink, he was yanked off and pulled to the ground.

“And what ‘ave we ‘ere?” Said a toothless face. “A pretty boy and ‘is ‘orse?”

Another thief had grabbed the reins while the others dug through Mark’s baggage tied to the saddle.

“No, please!” Mark reached out. “You may have the purse, the clothes on my back, but not my music!”

A chubby thief opened up the case for his lute and took it out.

“No!” Mark cried. “Take all the money you want! Leave my music, I beg of you! I have gems as well!” He reached into the pocket of his overcoat and tossed them at the thieves. They scrambled over each other like hungry dogs to pick them up.

“Tell you what,” said a bearded fellow that appeared to be the leader. He stood over Mark holding a big stick and tapped it against his palm. “We’ll go on and take what we damn well want to, _good sir_ ,” he screwed his face up in mock deference, “how about that?”

Mark tried to speak again, but the big stick came down. Mark felt a searing pain, saw fuzzy circles of light, and then everything went black.

* * *

The cloaked figure rode at a gallop along the high road to Cordesia.

They were in a hurry, as they’d gotten behind since leaving Rosebourgh. As they rounded a bend they saw in front of them in the near twilight a scene they had not expected. A spooked horse tied to a tree, torn parchment strewn all over the road, and on the side a young man dressed only in his breeches and undershirt, groaning with dried blood on his head.

The cloaked figure rode up to the scene, quickly dismounted, and went to the young man. They knelt down to examine his wound. The young man rolled his head about, moaning in pain, wincing when the cloaked figure touched his head to see the wound more closely. It did not appear to be too deep or too wide. But blood caked in the boy’s dark hair and had dripped along his forehead.

“Please…,” the young man murmured in his delirium. “Derian…my love…please…”

The cloaked figure removed a sash from their waist to wrap the boy’s wound. Then they gathered up the torn pieces of parchment, putting them in a satchel tied to their horse. The figure mustered all their strength and lifted the boy as best they could, dragging him in his delirium to their horse. It took some time, but the cloaked figure managed to hoist the young man onto their horse, and lay him on his belly over the saddle. The figure went to the horse tied to the tree, holding up their hands to calm the spooked beast, and gently untied it and led it forward.

The cloaked figure mounted the boy’s horse, took the reins of their own, and led them all down the high road to an inn.

* * *

The first thing Mark heard was a crackling fire.

The next, the sound of creaking floorboards. And then, a high pitched whine in his ears. Mark groaned as a sharp and biting pain throbbed in his head. He stirred and opened his eyes to a darkened room, only lit by firelight. In the corner, a cloaked figure sat by the fire, stirring a pot. Mark reached up to touch his head. There was a piece of cloth wrapped around it and the scent of a salve on his skin.

The cloaked figure paused in their stirring and turned. “Oh. You’re awake.” The voice was feminine and slightly familiar.

Mark squinted at them as they poured something from the pot into a cup and brought it over.

“Where am I?” Mark mumbled, trying to sit up. “What’s happened?”

“Do try to lie still. This is hot and will leave a nasty burn if you move around like that.” The woman removed the hood of her cloak and Mark gasped.

“Your Highness!” He automatically tried to bow his head.

“None of that now,” Princess Navelle said, sitting beside him on the bed. “Have a sip of this.”

She put a gentle hand around Mark’s head, carefully avoiding his wound, and tipped the cup to his lips. Mark sipped the hot liquid, which tasted both bitter and sweet. But after a few sips he turned his head, refusing to drink more.

“What has happened, Your Highness?” He asked her. “Why are you here? And where are we?”

She set the cup on a table and put a hand to his cheek, gently turning his head to look at his wound. “Tell me what you remember first.”

“I - I remember riding on the high road.”

“Yes?”

“And there were sounds in the woods.”

“And?”

Mark’s stomach soured. “There were men. They came out of the woods and pulled me from my horse. One of them hit me.” His heart sank. “I believe they stole my lute.”

“Indeed, you were robbed,” Navelle said firmly. “You will have to report these men. You are a royal musician and a servant of the Crown. My father and brother will make these men pay and retrieve your items.”

Mark stared at her, noticing that the pains in his head were beginning to subside. “But Your Highness, how is it that you are here? Are you alone?”

Navelle smiled and raised a brow. “You are quite interesting, Mark the Lute Player. Quite.” She got up and went over to the pot by the fire. “I followed you, of course. All the way to Rosebourgh, and I got behind on the way back to Cordesia. So, when I came upon you on the high road, you were laying in the grass, your things gone, horse afraid, and parchments all strewn about.” She went to a satchel and took out the pieces. “They appear to be music that the scoundrels tore to bits.” She handed the pieces to Mark. “Perhaps we can find a way to repair them?”

Mark looked at the pieces of parchment and then at the Princess. “But I do not understand. Why were you following me?”

Navelle shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed. “I must find some way to spend my time - while my brother and sister are going about planning their respective weddings and happy futures.” She sighed and turned to Mark, a sly smile appearing on her lips, one that reminded Mark of the King. “Why did you lie to my brother, Mark, when you love him so well?”

Mark felt his cheeks heat and his heart pound. “W-what? I - I am not -”

“Oh, stop that.” She rolled her eyes. “Are you so daft, really? I _saw_ you. The both of you. In the passage that day.”

Mark stared at her, a fearful dread overcoming him.

“Of course, I pretended not to and, to be sure, I wondered about what I’d seen myself. So, I watched the two of you. It was easy really, the both of you so caught up in one another, you never noticed me at all.”

Mark thought of the times when either he or Derian saw a figure or heard footsteps. He could hardly believe it was her. “Please, Princess, I beg of you. Show mercy to me and keep this secret for your brother. It will ruin him if the people know.”

Navelle shook her head and smiled again. “Worry not, Master Lute Player. I do not wish to bring harm to you or my brother. It seems fitting, however, that my brother would be unable to love a Princess. Any Princess at all. And his marriage is of the utmost importance to the kingdom.”

Mark tried to sit up again since the ache in his head had vanished. It must have been whatever Navelle had given him to drink. “But he must marry. It is the way of Princes who will be made into Kings.”

“It is true,” Navelle replied. “But you know that he cannot marry Princess Matilde.”

Mark stared at her.

Navelle rolled her eyes once more. “I know you are not _that_ much of a simpleton. You saw as well as I - the Princess has a lover. It makes her marriage contract to Derian null and void.”

“What? You were in the Palace as well?”

Navelle huffed. “Beggin’ your pardon m’lord.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “That was you?”

“Of course it was me!”

Mark hung his head. “But Princess, you know that he has done the same with me. He has been unfaithful.”

She nodded. “Yes, that is also true. But you saw how well Master Halling lived as well as I. To live in such comfort and favor does not happen in a short time. It is clear the Princess was carrying on with the head musician long before being paraded before my brother.”

Mark sighed, his head hanging low. “It matters not. If I tell Derian what I have seen, he will know that I have lied.”

“You did not answer my question before: why did you lie?”

Mark hesitated a moment. It felt so strange being informal with the Princess, but he supposed since she had taken it upon herself to help him, he should tell her the truth. “Because I won’t be able to bear seeing Derian with someone else. And he must be. He must have a wife, whether she is Matilde or not. And he must go to bed with her, and be seen with her. All the while, I would be some secret. Something to hide. But, of course, Derian must hide me. The people would lose respect for him, and not to mention the King would have my hide.” He paused, shaking his head. “It is best if I left the Palace and took a position elsewhere. He could not fulfill his duty if I were around, and my heart would break every day.”

Navelle was quiet for a moment or two, then she said, “It is clear that you must tell Derian what you have seen, and how you came to see it.”

Mark shook his head, starting to feel dizzy. “No. I cannot.”

“You must. He will trust in what you say, if you tell him why you went to Rosebourgh.”

Mark shook his head more, insistent. “But nothing can be done of his duty to the kingdom.”

“But something can be done of him marrying a deceitful woman.”

Mark lay back on the pillows. “I do not know what I shall do, and I am weary. Oh!” He put a hand to his head. “I am dizzy.”

Navelle stood and placed a hand to his forehead, then his cheek. “I will send for a healing woman. The innkeeper brought one here to mind your wound and create the concoction to soothe your pains. She says you may have the pains for a while, but she can make a salve to heal your head wound.”

Mark closed his eyes, suddenly feeling heavy with tiredness. “Thank you, Your Highness. For your care.”

“There is no need for the Highness business. We are past that now.”

Mark was so tired he could hardly answer. He nodded his head slow and slower, until he nodded off to sleep.

* * *

When Mark next opened his eyes the sun was shining.

He squinted against the bright light and peered across the room to see Navelle arranging bread and fruit on a plate and pouring a cup of ale. She’d removed her cloak, had her long, lustrous hair braided from her face, and wore a simple dress with a velvet bodice. Mark slowly sat up, his dizziness gone, and his head feeling much better.

“How long have we been here now?” He asked Navelle.

She brought a cup of ale and a plate of bread and fruit to his bedside. “A few days now.”

“Oh, no.” Mark tried to sit up. “Derian will wonder what has happened. And Lysley. I did not plan to be gone this long.”

“Take care now,” Navelle said gently, putting her hands on his shoulders. “You could not travel until your wound was better, and your head less muddled.”

“I feel fine now. I should be on my way. We both should. Won’t the King and Queen wonder where you have gone?”

Navelle let out a harsh laugh. “They will do no such thing. In fact, I am sure they have not noticed my absence at all. Now, wait a moment Master Lute Player. Let me fetch the healing woman to be sure you are ready for travel.”

Mark waited impatiently while Navelle sent for the woman. She arrived with a long, flowing kerchief around her head and wore a deep blue tunic covering her arms and neck. The healing woman examined Mark’s eyes, felt around under his armpits, and changed the bandage on his head, applying a fresh coat of the salve.

“The wound is healing up quickly,” the healing woman told Navelle. “But he must take care on his travels not to overexert. He must rest when he is tired and drink plenty of the broth.”

Mark agreed to do as the healing woman said. He thanked her for caring for him, and she departed, leaving the salve and broth for their journey.

“We will ride at a comfortable pace,” Navelle said, gathering their things. “Do not be anxious for the time it takes. It is better for you to be healed and well when we arrive than worry yourself sick.”

Mark made the bed and looked around for his clothes. “How will I explain my wound?”

“Tell him the truth, as I said.”

Mark winced. “Perhaps to Derian. But to Lysley. Or anyone else.”

“Once again, the truth - you were robbed on your journey. You do not need to say which road or from where you came. Thieves are common on all the roads this time of year.”

“I should have known. I did not think of it.” Mark looked around. “And they took all of my clothing as well?” He wore nothing but a long nightshirt and it did not belong to him.

“The innkeeper’s daughters laundered your shirt and breeches, and he lent you his nightshirt. You can wear my cloak over your breeches and shirt if you wish. I wore it to be in disguise as I traveled. There is a small chance someone could have recognized me, but not likely.”

Mark looked at her alarmed. “The innkeeper? His family or the healing woman?”

Navelle shrugged. “If they knew who I was, they said nothing. Come now. We must be off so we have plenty of day light.”

When Navelle left the room to get their horses, Mark dressed. He looked around for all his things and wanted to cry because all his music had been torn and his lute stolen. He would have to report the thieves to get it back, which meant he’d have to tell someone at least part of the truth.

Navelle helped Mark mount his horse. She assured Mark if they came upon anymore trouble, she had a dagger her father had given her. As they rode along in silence back to Cordesia, Mark knew not what he would do. He did not want to cause any trouble, but he also did not want to reveal where he’d gone. He pondered it the whole way, still unsure as to what he would say, as the turrets of the Cordesian Palace came into sight.


	15. Chapter 15

Prince Derian awoke to another morning without Mark in his bed.

The nights and the mornings felt so empty without him. Derian was hardly able to stand it, but Mark had seemed anxious to go see his family. Mark had not said the precise reason, but Derian guessed it was to see his brother, Nevill. And Derian could not be so selfish as to stop Mark from seeing his family. He cared so much for them and, in a way, it made Derian a little envious. Mark had his mother to love him and worry for him, living so far from home.

Derian had received a letter from her not long after Mark departed. She wrote to thank His Highness for providing his physician to help her son. Derian smiled at her words of gratitude and how happy she was that Mark had found such a kind friend in the Prince. As Derian read through the letter, however, it struck him as odd that she did not mention Mark’s visit. In fact, she spoke as if she did not expect to see Mark for quite a while. Derian thought perhaps the message had been delayed. It was possible this time of year. Anyone who traveled the high roads, particularly west, were vulnerable. Only the nobles could afford armed escorts to accompany them.

Although Robishaw was south of the Palace, Derian began to wonder if he should have paid for an armed escort for Mark. Thieves were rampant this time of year and Mark had gone off alone.

Derian sat up in bed and reached for his robe. He strode out of his bed chamber to find Archerd and another manservant laying out his breakfast.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Archerd began with a bow.

“I want you to send a message to the Master of the Guard,” Derian instructed, sitting down at the table. “Tell him to send guards to patrol any roads between here and Robishaw. A dozen men should do it and we can spare them.”

Archerd bowed his head again. “Of course, Your Grace, but it is your father’s wishes that he be consulted when it comes to matters of his guard.”

“He need not be consulted about this. The matter is merely precautionary.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Archerd bowed deeply and left the room.

As Derian broke his fast, he could not help but worry and hope that his love was all right. And that he’d made it safely to Robishaw.

* * *

They’d found the funds to secure wedding preparations for both Derian and Naeveen.

Prince Ceawlin’s father - King Wissian - had yet to make a formal request to discuss the proposal between Ceawlin and Naeveen. Devonians were notorious for their leisurely pace at such matters. But there were no more negotiations nor discussions to be had for Derian and Matilde. All was settled.

She’d written Derian a brief message - she assured him her ladies were present as she wrote - only to ask after his health and tell him, in the most maidenly modest way, that she was looking forward to being his wife. Derian had been less than pleased to get a letter from her. It only made his predicament that much more pressing, and reminded him that his time with Mark was drawing to a close.

Derian sat with his father and Theomund in the Great Hall at midday. They were going over how to arrange the tables and how to seat the great nobles that would attend. Normally, the Queen would be involved with such, but she could not leave her rooms now until the baby was born. Derian wondered idly if he should go see her. He hadn’t since she’d gone in.

“Derian, do try and pay attention,” King Lucius said irritably. “I realize this holds no interest for you, but you can at least try to be attentive.”

Derian felt his face heat. “Yes, father. I am sorry.”

For the rest of the time, Derian attempted to participate, but his mind kept roaming to Mark. He felt on edge because he did not have Mark here to comfort him nor distract him; in his bed or otherwise.

After an hour, Derian could no longer control his restlessness. He brusquely excused himself and strode out of the Great Hall and into the gardens for some fresh air. As he walked around, attempting to clear his head, he heard his name.

Derian turned to see Naeveen approaching with two of her ladies on either side of her.

“Hello sister,” Derian said, not meaning to sound so melancholy.

She raised a brow at his tone, and told her ladies to leave her. She walked alongside him a few steps before she spoke. “I heard you were going through your wedding plans.”

“Yes,” Derian said more neutrally. “Father is very much involved.”

“I wonder if he’ll be involved with mine.” She paused. “Being that I am only a daughter.”

Derian pursed his lips. “He wants your wedding to be just as grand. He said so.”

“And what do you think of yours?” Naeveen said, looking at him pointedly. “Will it be grand enough?”

“It is not for me,” Derian replied readily. “It is for Matilde.”

Naeveen said nothing more, so Derian said nothing more. They walked along the garden paths, idly and in semi-comfortable silence for a time. Every thought Derian had about Matilde or the wedding, he pushed it away and replaced it with Mark.

Naeveen took a seat in a bench and invited Derian to sit next to her. They sat among the Palace’s many rose bushes. There were roses of many varieties and colors. It made Derian’s heart ache. He wished he were sitting here with Mark instead.

“And so, brother,” Naeveen said mildly. “How are your lute lessons? Have you learned many songs?”

Derian brought a hand to his doublet, adjusting it around his neck. “Er, no. No, I’m afraid not. Father did not think I needed anymore lessons.”

“Really? My, my. I thought you were continuing in your playing for as much as that lute player is in your rooms.”

Derian cleared his throat and stood up. “I should go back inside. Father is perhaps wondering where I have gone.”

“Oh, of course.” Naeveen stood as well. She lay a finger on her chin in thought. “I wonder where that young lute player has been. I have not seen him recently.”

“He’s gone to visit his family.”

“Oh, how nice. I am sure you miss his company.”

Derian felt the prickle of annoyance over his skin. “I suppose.”

“Well, it’s just that you always seemed to be with him or wanting to speak with him.”

“I like his songs. And he is good company to have.”

Naeveen glanced over at him. “Come now, Derry. What is the truth? You have spent so much time with him. There must be a reason.”

Derian half shook his head and half shrugged. “I know not what you mean.”

Naeveen shook her head. “You _do_ know what I mean.”

Derian felt his heart pound. He should go, but he lingered yet.

“Are you planning a surprise for Matilde?” Naeveen suggested. “Do you plan to play another song for her?”

Derian swallowed hard, looking down at his feet.

“I heard about how you played for her when you and father went to Rosebourgh,” Naeveen pressed. “Will you surprise her at your wedding?”

Derian wanted to take the outlet Naeveen was offering him, but he would have to lie more than he already was. He looked at her, wondering, unsure if he could trust her discretion…

“Derry?” She looked at him carefully. “Please tell me what is going on. Clearly there is something.”

Derian frowned. “I do not know what to tell you.”

“The truth, of course.”

Derian looked off in the distance. In the furthest corner of the gardens he could see the stone nymphs he’d walked around with those other Princesses. It seemed a lifetime ago.

“Derry,” Naeveen said softly. “Please tell me. What is it between you and the lute player?”

It seemed to Derian from her tone that she already knew. She looked at him, watching, waiting.

He sighed. “Oh, Naevie. I am much troubled, and I know not what I shall do.”

“Come,” Naeveen gestured to a corner where there was a long bench built into the garden wall. It was private and they would be unheard by each of their attendants. “Come and tell me everything.”

Derian sat next to her and thought of the best way to speak of it. There was no best way, however. For the truth of the matter, the heart of it, would come out either way.

“I - I…I have been… _seeing_ Mark. Almost every night. In my room. And, er, we are not having lute lessons.”

Naeveen stared at him. “What are you doing then?”

Derian sucked in a slow breath, then let it out. “I am in love with him, Naevie. I know that it is wrong and that it is forbidden. But, God help me, I am in love with the lute player.”

Naeveen said nothing for a moment, and Derian took another deep breath and held it. A breeze came along and stirred the lovely flowers by them and birds tweeted in a nearby tree. Derian was not sure if telling her would help anything. He did not expect her to be like Navelle and spill his secret all over the Palace as if it were a stain. But it certainly did not mean that she would be the least bit understanding.

“Oh, Derry,” she breathed at last. “I have wondered and suspected, but now I hear it is true. You love another, only the one you love is another boy.”

“I know not what to do,” he said sadly. “I cannot love the Princess. Although she is noble and lovely, I cannot love her. Not in the way a lady such as her deserves. But I must marry. And if I do, I must give up Mark.” He shook his head. “But I do not _want_ to. I want to be with him always. He has gone to see his family these last few days, and I have hardly been able to stand it.”

“How long has it been?” Naeveen asked gently. “When did things start between you?”

Derian thought a moment. “I suppose in one way, they began on our trip to Rosebourgh. But in another, they began the very night of my Presenting, and he played that song.” Derian closed his eyes. “I had never felt that way. He enchanted me from the very start, truly.”

Naeveen sighed, a slow smile forming on her lips. “It is easy to see why, my brother. Mark’s talent amazes, and his songs are quite enchanting. I knew that the first night as well." Then she frowned. "But, Derry. He is a mere lute player. You are a Prince.”

“I know.”

“And it is the way of things, for Princes to marry Princesses -”

“I know.”

“ - and Princes to become kings -”

“I _know._ ”

“ - and rule until death.”

“Yes, yes.” Derian crossed his arms. “I know, Naevie. I know full and well.”

Naeveen fidgeted with her skirts for a moment. “I have often wondered: why is it there is all this tradition and order? What purpose could it possibly serve? Why must the servant bow to his master? And why must that master bow to a King? It seems to me there is another way. Another kind of tradition and order, if one so wills it. One where no man bows to another. Or woman. In fact, a woman can rule just as readily and easily as a man.”

“It sounds idyllic, but it is not so.”

“No, it is not. And neither is a Prince taking his lute player’s hand in love for all time.”

Derian sagged his shoulders. “You are saying things to me I am already aware of, sister.”

“Indeed. But I suppose you wanted to hear someone else say them. To know what you must do.”

Derian felt a cold dread forming in the pit of his stomach. Yes, he knew what he must do. Only he did not wish to do it. His love for Mark was much too great. Much too strong.

“Your duty is to your kingdom, Derry.” Naeveen’s tone was gentle, but her words firm. “And to father. And, I suppose, in a way to Navelle and I as well. For we cannot marry, until you do first.”

Derian felt weak under the weight of his position. He was really and truly trapped, that bird in a gilded cage, seeing out into the world, the possibilities beyond, but finding them out of his reach.

“You are right.” He felt the sinking of resignation all over him. “The kingdom is my duty.”

“I am only sorry that you have found such love now. And not later with a lovely bride. It makes it that much harder to leave it.”

Derian felt all the hope he had crumble underneath his feet. “It was foolish, but I could not help it.”

“The lute player, Mark, is a kind-hearted and handsome boy. He will find another to love him.”

_But no one will love him as I do!_

Derian nodded slowly and stood. “Thank you for listening and your wise words, Naevie. But I must return to my wedding plans.”

“Yes, you must.” She stood as well.

Derian turned to go, and she caught his hand.

“Derry. Remember that love can bloom in many different gardens.”

Derian took her words to heart, nodded once more, then departed.

* * *

As Derian was being dressed for dinner by his attendants, he wrestled inwardly with his thoughts. He did not want to give Mark up. He did not want to go about the rest of his days - married or not - without Mark in his bed at night and by his side at day. And yet it was becoming clear, certainly based on what Naeveen had said, that he could not have that life with Mark. He must marry for his sisters’ sake and for the good of the kingdom. Dilly-dallying with a lute player would not fulfill his duties nor would it be pleasing to anyone. And besides, sooner or later someone would figure out what Mark was to him. The only person he trusted with this secret was Naeveen. He knew that she would speak nothing.

So, it was best for him to give Mark up. He did not know yet how he would handle Mark in the Palace after he wed Matilde. The temptation would be there constantly, but he would have to be strong and remind himself of his duty to his father, his people, and his crown.

Derian made his way to the Great Hall to dinner, his attendants behind him. He caught a glimpse of someone down a corridor to his left. In his periphery, the someone had a height and build that was familiar to him. Derian slowed to look and saw Mark with Navelle. But Mark looked different. He had a bandage of some kind wrapped around his head. A bolt of alarm shot through Derian’s stomach.

He ordered his attendants to stay where they were and went down the corridor, his sudden worry giving way to sudden confusion at why Mark was with his sister. They appeared to be in the middle of a discussion.

“Mark!” Derian called as he drew near. “You are injured! What has happened?” Inwardly he wondered if Mark had just returned or had he been back longer? Why did Mark not come to see him?

Navelle turned to him her face a mask, but Mark looked away as if he were embarrassed.

“Mark?” Derian stopped in front of him, looking from the boy to his sister. “What has happened? Why are both of you here and not going to the Great Hall? Did you just return, Mark?”

“I, er…I was just coming to see you, Highness.” Mark glanced quickly at Navelle. “I came upon some thieves on my way back to the Palace, but I am all right. Only, I wish to rest tonight rather than play in the Great Hall.”

Derian’s heart pounded. “Thieves?” He grabbed Mark’s shoulders, nearly forgetting Navelle was there. “Oh dear God! What happened? What did they do to you? What did they take?”

Mark hung his head. Up close, Derian could see there was a wound on the side, but it did not appear to be a serious one.

“Please, Highness,” Mark said. “I would like to rest. The journey was long.”

“Long?” Derian said, puzzled. “From Robishaw?”

Mark glanced at Navelle again, who pursed her lips. His voice trembled slightly. “It was long because I had to stop after the thieves. A kind woman at an inn took care of me and found a healing woman for my wound.”

“Oh, Mark,” Derian said pityingly, before he could stop himself. “Let me get my physician to tend to you.” He turned to Navelle. “Why are you here?”

Navelle rolled her eyes. “It’s rather nice to see you as well, brother.”

“Come,” Derian said, taking Mark by the arm. “I will take you to your room and see that you are looked after.”

As he led Mark away from Navelle, he noticed Mark glance back at her.

“Why were you talking to my sister?” Derian asked, trying not to sound hostile.

“Er…I saw her, or rather, she saw me when I arrived. She wanted to know what happened to me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Derian whispered. “I should have sent an escort with you. I ordered the Guard to send men all along the roads to Robishaw for your safety, but it appears they did not send enough.”

Mark stiffened. “The thieves came out of the woods. Your Guard would not have seen them.”

Derian led Mark into his room and shut the door. A servant had lit a taper by the window, giving just enough light.

Derian gently placed a kiss on Mark’s lips. “My dearest Mark. I will make sure you are healed. Lay in your bed and rest while I fetch a physician.”

“It is not necessary -”

“Please let me help.”

Mark hesitated. “All right.”

“And you must tell me of these thieves. I will send my men after them at once to recover what they have stolen.”

Mark looked down at his feet. He slowly shook his head. “You do too much. It is not necessary.”

“It is entirely necessary.” Derian placed a hand on Mark’s head, turning it slightly to see the bandage over the wound. “My father’s physician may have a special salve for this. I will go to him at once.”

Mark opened his mouth to protest again, but Derian kissed it. “Wait here, my love.”

And then he left Mark’s rooms to get help.

* * *

Although Mark asked him not to, Derian sent word to his father and sisters that he had stomach pains and would not be at dinner. Derian was determined to stay by Mark’s side, furious the King’s Guard had failed to protect the roads.

Derian put Mark to bed, removed all his clothing, and had his father’s physician, Dr. Furze, examine Mark’s wound and apply medicines. Dr. Furze noted the wound had been well-cleaned before and healing up nicely. It appeared as if a salve had been used. Derian noticed Mark’s eyes dart around nervously as Dr. Furze treated him, and he waited until the physician had gone before he spoke.

“Mark, you seem anxious. What has made you so? The thieving bastards who came upon you?”

Mark bunched the coverlet on his bed in his fists. “It is only the slight pains from my wound, Highness.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Derian whispered, lying down alongside him. Mark's bed was smaller, which forced Derian to lay closer. “And next time you go visit your family, you must go with an escort. I will not let this happen to you again.”

Mark sighed beside him, threading his fingers through Derian’s. “You are much to good to me.”

“Tell me - did it happen on the high road to Robishaw?”

Mark’s fingers tightened. “Yes. It was the high road.”

“Did you see what the men looked like?”

Mark hesitated a moment. “Well…they were dirty and ragged. One was very pale and had a large stick. With which he struck me.” He hesitated once more. “I begged them not to take my music nor my lute, but they did so. And all else I carried with me.”

Derian narrowed his eyes, his heart thumping in anguish and anger at Mark’s ordeal. “I will make sure the thieving bastards are found and put in a dungeon.” He sat up. “If I brought the leader of my father’s Guard to you, would you be able to tell him where it happened and how many men there were?”

Derian felt Mark’s hand slip from his grip. “I…er…I am not sure. My memory is a bit weak, I’m afraid.”

Derian looked down at Mark looking strangely pitiful and almost afraid in his bed. “I see. Perhaps after you’ve had some rest. Your journey was long.” He stood up from the bed. “I will go to my rooms to be undressed for bed by my attendants. Then I shall return. I want to spend the night laying beside you.”

Mark’s frightened eyes turned hopeful. “I would like that very much.”

Derian smiled and left Mark’s rooms.

* * *

Derian waited until his attendants were done with their nighttime duties. He waited nearly a half hour after they’d all gone to be sure he wouldn’t be seen. Then he remembered the passageway and slipped through the doorway in his study. It was dark with only a few slats in the wall providing some light to see by. Derian felt his way along and found that there was no doorway directly into Mark’s bedroom. He found a doorway under a wall hanging near it, however, and made sure no one was around before he slipped inside.

Mark was already asleep, so Derian crept quietly to his bed. He gingerly lay beside the boy, not wanting to disturb him. Derian watched Mark sleep for a few moments. It was as true right then as it ever was - Derian loved Mark more than anything. He could lay in Mark’s bed and listen to Mark’s soft breaths for the rest of his life. He could die with this vision and those sounds and do so happily. Mark was his love, and yet he would have to give up his love in order to marry. It pained him worse than Mark’s ordeal on the high road.

Derian lay a gentle kiss to Mark’s forehead, causing the boy to stir in his sleep. Mark opened his eyes and gazed up at Derian, a soft smile forming on his lips.

“My Prince…,” Mark whispered softly.

Derian gently kissed his lips. “Yes. I am here. To keep you warm and safe.”

Mark cuddled close to him and closed his eyes again. “I missed you, Derian. I missed lying next to you like this and your touch.”

“I missed you as well,” Derian replied, wrapping his arms around Mark and pulling him closer. “I was worried about the thieves on the high road. I sent some of the Guard to patrol the roads, but apparently they did not do their job.”

Derian felt Mark stiffen in his arms. “It would have been impossible for your Guard to see these thieves, Highness. They were so well hidden in the forest. They came upon me so swiftly I knew not what to do.”

“You must tell the Master of the Guard of these scoundrels and where you saw them. They had no right to take your lute.”

Derian could feel Mark’s heartbeat quicken against him. “I will do my best to describe them, but…I do not remember precisely where I saw them on the road. It was growing late, you see, and I was very tired.”

“Then provide an approximation if you cannot remember exactly, I am sure they will be able to find some trace of these men. I know their kind. They camp out in the forests during the summer months, waiting for travelers to roam by.”

Mark said nothing, only slipped his arms around Derian and held him tightly. “It feels so wonderful to be in your arms. I wish I could stay in them for all time.”

Derian nuzzled his face into Mark’s umber hair, his nose brushing against the bandage. “Oh Mark, if only it could be so.”

Mark said nothing more, leaving Derian’s words hanging between them as they held each other tightly until they each fell asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there was no update last Sunday. I seem to have caught the dreaded Rona. There shouldn't be anymore delays as there's only one chapter left after this one. Hope y'all have a happy new year and thank you so much for reading!

When Mark opened his eyes, he looked into the sleeping face of his sweet Prince.

The morning light filtered within through the clouds, leaving a weak, lazy glow on Derian’s form. Mark snuggled closer to him and breathed in Derian’s scent of sweet jasmine blended with woodsmoke. The scent was so familiar to Mark, so comforting, that he nearly drifted off to sleep again.

But then his eyes flew open as his sleep-addled thoughts cleared.

He touched the bandage on his head, remembering that all was not peaceful nor comforting. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked around his bed chamber. His and Derian’s clothing lay on a nearby serving table and chair. The door was latched shut and Mark’s meager hearth was cold. Mark breathed a sigh of relief that none of the servants had come, but his heart began to quicken at what Derian’s servants might be thinking finding the Prince’s bed empty.

Mark glanced down at his love and felt his heart fill. He did not want to wake the Prince, but he must get Derian to his room. Mark needed time to figure out what he was going to do. Last evening when Derian saw him with Princess Navelle, it had caught Mark completely off guard. The Princess had assured Mark that Derian would be already in the Great Hall and would not see them together. Of course, Mark trusted her since she’d rescued him, but he was irritated when Derian appeared. Navelle was adamant that Mark be truthful with her brother. She reiterated again and again that Mark must tell Derian of Matilde.

And yet…Mark held back.

And why, he was not sure. Partly, he was afraid to admit his own deceit. Mark did not want to tell Derian he’d lied. He was afraid Derian would trust him no longer and it would be worse than losing him completely. Mark did not want the Prince to think him a liar. And even worse, if Mark told Derian, Derian would want to know why and Mark would feel compelled to explain. It seemed as if the inevitable end of their affair was something both of them knew, but neither wanted to speak of.

Mark sighed in anguish and slid a hand across Derian’s bare back. The Prince sighed softly and stirred, turning his head on the pillow. The sight of his love so peaceful and slumbering warmed Mark’s heart. Oh, how could he ever live without this?

Mark lay back down, nuzzling his face into Derian’s neck, kissing the top of his spine. Derian murmured something and reached behind him to feel for Mark. Mark continued kissing down Derian’s spine, moving the covers until Derian’s arse was exposed. Mark kissed each of the soft cheeks and then Derian turned over, his cock half-hard in the lazy daylight, and Mark felt a spark of want.

Derian looked down at him. “Mark…shouldn’t you be resting?”

Mark moved up Derian’s body to kiss him. “And shouldn’t you be in your own rooms? Lest your servants find you not there?”

“I put a page boy outside my chambers and sent word for them not to disturb me today until I sent for them.” He wrapped his arms around Mark, pulling him close. “I wanted to lie with you for as long as possible.”

“Oh, Derian.” Mark stroked his face, feeling a bit of stubble on his chin. “What is possible? What could be? Or should?”

Derian stared up at him with those lovely dark eyes. Mark slipped his fingers into his thick auburn hair, the truth dangerously close to spilling from his lips.

“I want to believe,” Derian said softly, “that anything is possible.” His hand slid down Mark’s chest. “And that I might be with you for as long as I wish, with nothing nor no one to fear.”

Mark felt his chest tighten where Derian touched him. The words were almost pouring from his lips when Derian sat up and gently lay Mark on his back. Mark trembled with want as the Prince kissed his neck, nibbled on his jaw, and pressed decisive kisses in a path down his abdomen. His tongue flicked over Mark’s navel before Mark felt Derian’s hand wrap around his cock. He stroked it once, twice, then slid it between his lips. Mark groaned at the feel of Derian’s hot, wet mouth engulfing him.

Derian took his time, his tongue toying with the slit at Mark’s tip, tasting the dew that leaked from it, sliding it up and down the shaft, and slowly sucking his length before using his hand to squeeze and stroke leisurely. It all made Mark tremble and pant, tangling his fingers in Derian’s hair, tugging with the desire for more. Derian began to bob his head, sucking Mark’s cock properly, his movements swift and exacting, then slowing and lazy again. It drove Mark nearly mad.

“Oh, Derian, please,” Mark whimpered. “It is torture, what you do to me.”

Derian made a noise of desire in his throat as he swallowed Mark’s cock once more. He reached up for Mark’s hand and Mark held it, squeezing. Derian sucked him harder, until his cheeks hollowed, and Mark cried out. Derian made another sound in his throat as Mark spent in his mouth. Mark’s eyes squeezed shut as his cock pulsed and Derian swallowed every creamy drop. When Mark’s climax was nothing but a pounding heart, sweating skin, and panting breath, he relaxed into the coverlet while Derian lay beside him. Derian wiped at the corners of his lips and smiled down at him.

“I have yet to say good morning, dearest,” Derian said.

Mark laughed. “Did you not just say it? Only in a different way.” He sighed, feeling heavy and sated. “It is good to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

Mark rubbed the backs of his fingers across Derian’s chin. “Naked in my bed, and happy.”

“Pleasing you makes me happy.” He bent down to brush his lips over Mark’s. “I hope that helped with any of your head pains.”

“I have none at all.” Mark kissed the Prince deeply, tasting himself in his mouth.

Derian grunted as Mark tried to roll him over on his back, but Derian would not let him. Mark gave him an exaggerated pout and tugged at the blankets bunched around Derian’s hips.

Derian laughed softly. “I only meant to please you. For you are the injured party, and I was providing you with some relief from your ailment.”

“Swallowing your spend would provide me with the greatest relief,” Mark said softly, leaning over to kiss him.

Derian let out a shaky breath, then gently pulled away. “I must return to my rooms. Archerd will be beside himself if I give him nothing to do.”

Mark’s sated state began to fade with anxiety. He did not want Derian to go and break this happy moment. For as soon as he was gone, Mark must think about Matilde once again and his lie. He did not want to think about it. He wanted to pretend as if neither had happened.

But as Derian flipped back the coverlet and began to dress, Mark thought of what Derian would do that very day. He’d continue with his wedding plans, believing his bride to be loyal and pure, just as she was believing him to be. Mark’s wound began to ache anew.

“Derian,” Mark whispered. He got out of bed and reached out a hand to stop him from putting on his undershirt. “Go and find Archerd and give him a task, but please return to me. We have been apart for so long, and if I must be resting, I want to rest with you.”

Warmth flickered over Derian’s brown eyes, and he paused in his dressing.

“Oh, Mark.” His voice sounded choked. “To think…those thieves…and what they could have done to you…” He turned his face away and there were tears in his eyes. “I should have given you an escort. It is my fault. I was not thinking.”

Mark wrapped his arms around the Prince, pressing their bare chests together. “Do not think it so.” Guilt began to gnaw at him. “There was nothing you could have done. Or anyone, truly.”

Mark felt Derian’s strong arms wrap around him, and Derian placed a gentle kiss on his shoulder. “I want so much to protect you,” Derian whispered. “To keep you safe. And your family, too. It hurts my heart that I was not able to do so.”

And it hurt Mark’s heart that he could not decide to tell Derian where he’d really gone and what he’d seen.

“Please spend the day with me, Derian,” Mark whispered. “For we have been apart for many days and soon…” He could not finish and lowered his head as Derian lowered his eyes.

After a few moments, Derian spoke. “Let me find Archerd. Then I shall return.” He gave Mark a long, sweet kiss in parting, and then left Mark’s room.

* * *

Mark waited and waited.

He got back into bed at first, snuggled under the coverlet, trying to preserve the warmth Derian had left in his bed. He breathed in the scent Derian had left, and fixed the bandage on his head. Truly, his wound felt better. He was grateful for the Princess for being there and taking him to get help. The thought of what would have become of him had she not come along frightened him.

After the passing of a half an hour, Mark decided to get dressed. He absently thought to take out his lute and compose, when he remembered where it had gone. The feeling left him empty until he recalled that Derian had his other lute. He would ask him about it once he returned.

But the minutes turned into hours, and Derian had not returned. Mark paced his room, and then finally, he departed, making his way to the Prince’s chambers. Outside the curtains, he saw a page boy sitting on a stool. The boy rose as Mark approached.

“Is the Prince within?” Mark asked the boy. “I’d like to speak with him.”

“I am sorry,” the boy replied. “But the Prince has been called away.”

Mark froze. “Called away? What has happened?”

“A dispute has broken out between the Earl of Lawter and the Duke of Sayne. The Prince was called away by His Majesty to lead the King’s Guard to the villages to preserve the peace.”

Mark felt a spark of worry in his gut. “I hope there is no immediate danger.”

Mark knew the Earl and Duke had disagreements in the past. Both men were very powerful and the people in the surrounding villages especially disliked the Duke. Mark imagined there would be much quarreling among the people as they chose sides. Certainly, the King’s Guard needed to be dispatched or else the disorder would get out of hand. Mark hoped it would not get too chaotic for Derian.

“I am not certain of the danger, sir,” the page boy said. “But I know His Grace was most troubled by His Majesty’s message and was obliged to leave at once.”

Mark felt the sting of disappointment mix with the spark of worry. “I see. Thank you for the message.”

Mark turned away and felt aimless as he wandered back to his room. He knew that Derian would lead the King’s Guard gallantly and his fairness would restore peace. But still, Mark worried - what if something were to happen to Derian, and Mark had never told him the truth?

* * *

“There you are.”

Mark turned at the sound of Princess Navelle’s voice. Although he wasn’t supposed to be out and about, he went to the gardens to go for a walk. Being in his room alone without the Prince was too depressing. Luckily, no one was outside to see him. Or so he thought.

“Your Highness,” Mark bowed. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but what are you doing out here?”

“I told you, Master Lute Player,” Navelle said as she approached. “None of this ‘Highness’ business. We are past that now. And besides, I should be asking you this question.”

Mark lowered his gaze. “The Prince has gone to the Eastern Territories to settle a dispute. I was lonely in my rooms without him.”

Navelle raised a brow. “Did you tell him?”

Mark crossed his arms and looked away from her, partially annoyed and partially embarrassed.

“I see.” She pursed her lips. “So, now we know my brother will be off risking his life and does not know his bride is unfaithful.”

“Don’t say that,” Mark muttered. “It is not easy, my lady. For once he knows my deceit, he may never trust me again.”

“But once he knows you will be candid, even when you attempt to deceive, then he will believe what you say. It is the lies never admitted to that breed distrust.”

Mark sighed. “I know that you are right. But…Rosebourgh? He will be crushed that I chose to go to Rosebourgh to join the court musicians. It is so far away, and it would have guaranteed we never saw one another again. He will recognize that.”

“And so, Master Lute Player? Will it matter once he recognizes you for your honesty and Matilde for the cunning whore that she is?”

Mark was shocked to hear such language coming from a Princess. “Yes, my lady, I understand. It frightens me. I care for him so, and he will have to choose a bride eventually. We might have this one reprieve, but what of next time? When His Majesty chooses another maiden for him?”

“Then I expect it will be up to my brother whom he chooses. And what kind of life he wants.” She paused slipping her hands into her long, elegant sleeves. “My sister will think differently. For as long as Derian remains a bachelor, she remains a maiden. It is so with me. But a marriage for me will not be quite as grand nor as important. I do not mind a delay so much anymore. Or if it even happens at all.”

Mark looked at the Princess and saw a bit of sadness in her eyes as well as resolve. Derian had often complained of her, and Mark had seen her often seated away from the rest of her family in the Great Hall, as if she were not apart of them at all. He’d always felt a tiny bit of pity for the Princess, but now he had the greatest respect for her.

“You do not wish to marry, my lady?” Mark asked cautiously.

“I do. But, you see, a groom chosen for me will not be a Prince or even a Duke. I know my place. I have known it all my life. Although it is difficult sometimes to fathom, it is not my brother’s fault he was born a boy nor that the laws of the land are as they are. I do want him to be happy, and I know that he will only be happy with you.”

Mark smiled. “That is my only wish: to make Derian happy.”

“I saw how much he loves you, Mark. Despite the traditions, I know that my brother will never love anyone as he loves you.”

Mark smiled even wider. He went to Navelle and offered her his arm. “Would you like to take a stroll with me, my lady? The day is fair.”

Navelle eyed his arm, then grinned her sly grin. “Only if Master Lute Player promises to tell my brother the Prince what he beheld at the Rosebourgh Palace.”

Mark gave her an exaggerated eye roll and a smile. “Yes, yes, Princess. I promise.”

She giggled and took Mark’s arm. They walked through the gardens the rest of that lovely day, and Mark felt perfectly at peace.

* * *

Days passed, and Derian had yet to return from the Eastern Territories.

Mark was beside himself with worry. There were whisperings among the courtiers that the conflict between the Earl of Lawter and the Duke of Sayne had been far more serious than anyone thought. At the onset, the people in the villages were siding with the Earl and the nobles were siding with the Duke. But now it appeared the nobles were abandoning the Duke. He was hostile to the Crown and took lands from the country people through dishonest means. From what Mark heard, the Duke of Sayne was holed up inside his estate and refused to come out at the behest of the King’s Guard. Some of the courtiers feared the Duke might raise an army.

Mark feared it, too. If the Duke was hostile to the King, then surely the Duke would be hostile to the Prince. Mark wished and wished Derian had not gone, but the King was far too old and fat. Mark knew the King had sent his son on purpose, to show the strength of the Crown to Sayne and get him to surrender such a stand off.

Mark had no lute to play at dinner, but it was no matter. The physician ordered him to rest until his head wound healed. Each day, a new bandage and salve was applied. The physician warned Mark that he may suffer effects such as dizziness, problems with his memory, and spots before his eyes. Thus far, Mark was sure all those problems and more were caused by his worry over Derian.

Lysley came up to Mark’s room to see how he was doing. Besides Navelle, he was the only person who knew that Mark had gone to Rosebourgh and why. Mark worried anew at Derian’s reaction, but he must keep the promise he made to Navelle. She seemed to visit him quite frequently, and said nothing more about what he must tell Derian. Mark had grown rather fond of the Princess.

When at long last Mark heard that the King’s Guard was returning, he glanced anxiously out of his window, morning, noon, and night. The Duke of Sayne had not emerged from his manor, but a messenger came out to assure the Guard there would be no more trouble. From the whisperings Mark overheard from the servants, it appeared everyone at the Cordesian Palace was relieved. They worried their fair Prince’s marriage would be delayed if the Duke continued to quarrel with the Earl.

Mark cared not for either man or their blasted manors. He only cared that his dear, sweet Prince came home safely. And he would be truthful with his love a million times over as long as he was safe and sound in Mark’s arms.

One afternoon, Mark heard a galloping of horses hooves in the courtyard. He ran from his room and to the gallery to peer down into the hallway below. There he saw the Master of the Guard enter and a few more Guards behind him. Mark waited and waited for that familiar auburn head to appear. Servants entered the main hall to bring the men ale and remove their dusty capes. They would be going to see the King any moment.

Mark nearly cried in relief when he saw his love enter, striding forward confidently, and unharmed. He handed off his riding gloves to a hall boy and glanced upward. As soon as Mark’s eyes caught Derian’s, Derian smiled up at him and Mark’s heart sang. His love was safe!

Mark wanted to run down from the gallery and straight into Derian’s arms, but Derian was being escorted to the King’s chambers. He and the Guards would debrief with the King. But Mark knew he would see his love later.

“You look pleased.”

Mark turned to see Navelle standing beside him, looking down into the gallery.

Mark wondered where she’d come from. “Yes, my lady. I am please to see him and that he is unharmed.”

Navelle grinned. “Don’t forget your promise.”

Mark could not help but grin back. “I will not.”

* * *

Mark did not see Derian that night.

Nor the following morning.

The anticipation was great. Mark feared he may burst if he could not see his love. Although he knew Derian was unharmed, Mark wanted to touch and speak with the Prince to be sure. But Derian had been shut up in the King’s chambers since he’d arrived. Mark wondered how troubling the incident had been to keep Derian away all night and morning. The page boy outside of the Prince’s chambers told Mark that Derian had not been to his rooms at all.

Mark must have looked distraught because the page boy added that it was typical of the King to have long debriefings after such disputes in his kingdom. Mark thanked the page boy and returned to his room. Since he had no lute to play, he decided to write verse and compose the tune in his head. The activity was only distracting for a short time, however, before Mark ventured out again to the Prince’s chambers.

This time, the page boy was gone, but when Mark entered through the curtain he nearly ran into Archerd.

“Oh!” The man nearly dropped the linens he was carrying. “Master Wolcott. I was not expecting you.”

“Has His Highness returned?” Mark asked hopefully. When Archerd gave him a strange look, Mark tried to make his tone indifferent. “I am merely seeking the lute I loaned to the Prince. I’m sure you have heard: mine was stolen by thieves on the high road.”

“Yes, Master Wolcott, and I am deeply sorry for your troubles, but His Grace is being bathed and dressed for bed. He is quite weary from his travels and spending all night in His Majesty’s chambers.”

Mark looked past Archerd into the anteroom where the Prince’s attendants moved about.

“Yes, Archerd,” Mark said resignedly. “His Highness must have his rest. I shall come another time.”

“There’s a good lad,” Archerd replied stiffly, and Mark bristled slightly at the condescension.

All Mark could do was return to his room, but he watched the time until three quarters of an hour had passed. He left his room and went down the hall to the passageway and made his way into the Prince’s chambers. He listened at the tiny door for voices or footsteps, then pushed it open a crack. When he saw there were no servants about, he stepped out of the door and went to Derian’s bed. The curtains were closed around it to keep out the daylight. Mark peeked through them to see Derian laying under the coverlet, sleeping soundly.

Mark looked around once more, then removed his shoes and doublet. He crawled into the bed in his breeches and undershirt, causing Derian to stir under the coverlet.

Derian’s eyes opened slightly. “Mark…?”

“Shh, hush now. Just go to sleep. I will be right here when you wake.”

“I’m sorry, Mark. I was going to send word…but…”

“It’s all right, my love.” Mark gently kissed the Prince’s forehead. “Rest now.”

Derian smiled softly and closed his eyes again. Before long he’d drifted back to sleep. Mark lay beside him for the remainder of the day, drifting off himself from time to time. It was a noise by the hearth that jolted Mark awake hours later. He quickly covered himself with the bed clothes in case an attendant parted the curtains.

“Your Grace,” Archerd’s voice came softly outside the bed curtains. “I am sorry to disturb, but Her Majesty has begun her labor pains.”

Derian stirred and rolled over. “Archerd? What did you say?”

“The Queen, Your Grace. She has begun her labor. Your father has gone into her chambers to await the birth of the child. There will be no dining in the Great Hall tonight. His Majesty requests that you and your sisters take your dinners in your own chambers this evening.”

Derian sat up and rubbed his eyes, glancing down at Mark who peeked up at him through the blankets. “Yes, thank you for sharing the news, Archerd. And we will pray for a safe delivery for both the Queen, my step-mother, and the child.”

“Indeed, Your Grace, indeed. We are all praying. Now, I will send a page to the kitchens so that your serving table may be arranged.”

“I am not hungry right now, Archerd. Tell the kitchens I will take my supper later.” He turned to Mark. “And I will have the lute player, Mark Wolcott, join me,” he added, “as my honored guest.”

Archerd said nothing for a moment, then: “Yes, Your Grace.”

After he’d walked away, Derian’s arms closed around Mark, and Mark greedily hugged him back.

“Oh,” Mark breathed. “Oh, I was so worried about you! These past few days have been quite torturous.” His lips sought out the Prince’s and once he found them he tasted them softly. “The relief I felt, to see you return unharmed…” Mark was surprised to feel himself getting choked with emotion. He knew part of it was just what he said: Derian safe and unharmed. But the other part was keeping his promise to Navelle. “I must talk with you, Derian. It is of the utmost importance.”

Derian blinked, his eyes getting misty. “Wait.” He leaned over to give Mark another kiss. “I have not kissed you nor touched you in days, and there was a moment where I feared I would never again.”

“Was the danger that great?” Mark asked nervously.

Derian looked at him soberly. “Lawter and the people in the villages are safe for now. But I fear Sayne is not finished and may cause an uprising before long. I tried to warn my father. He dispatched more of his Guard to patrol the Territories, but Sayne has many of the nobles on his side. Including Lord Dalston.”

Mark looked at Derian wide-eyed. “Dalston? After displaying such loyalty when we stayed at his manor? He is a traitor, just like the Duke!”

“My father is furious, but part of him does not want to believe it. I knew Dalston was a snake, but my father likes to believe all the nobles fear him and remain loyal.” Derian’s expression changed from worry to irritation, and he gazed down. “It is why my marriage is so important to him. With the lineage secure, my father feels the nobility is less likely to defy him. The sooner I am married and giving him grandsons, the better for him.” He sighed. “And I suppose the better for all of us really. Especially my sisters.”

Mark knew this was the moment. He steeled himself. “There’s…there’s something I must tell you.”

Derian flicked his eyes up to Mark’s face. “What is it?”

Mark bit his lip. “Well. Remember when I went to see my family?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I…,” Mark shook his head. “I was only - “

Suddenly, the sound of running footsteps sounded outside the Prince’s bed chambers. The door flew open and Archerd began to shout. “Your Grace! Your Grace!”

Derian quickly reached for his robe.

“Your Grace! The Queen has given birth and it is a boy! Oh! Praise be to God! It is a -” And right then, Archerd flung open the bed curtains.

Mark yelped and quickly tried to dive under the coverlet, but it was no use. Archerd’s wide eyes felt right on him, and his mouth formed a perfect O from the shock. Mark trembled and glanced worryingly at Derian whose face was as red as an apple.

“A-Archerd,” Derian stammered as the pale-faced man stepped away from the bed. “Please, Archerd. I - I was only… Mark was...”

Mark did not wait to hear what else Derian said. His worst fears for him and the Prince had come true. He leapt from the bed and quickly ran out of the Prince’s chambers.


	17. Chapter 17

Derian could not cry out for Mark to come back.

Archerd’s pale face and shocked expression were too frightening. The man looked as if he may either faint or begin shouting for the Guards. Quickly, Derian got out of bed and put on his robe.

“Please, Archerd. Listen to me.” He held out his hand as the man stepped back as if the Prince were cursed. “You cannot tell what you have seen here. I care not what it will do to my own reputation, but Mark is a good and noble man. I will not see his reputation destroyed and him tossed out of the Palace. Please, Archerd. Promise me you will be silent.”

Archerd turned his head, his bushy brows drawn down tight. “Your Grace…I cannot hardly believe what I have seen.”

“You may believe what you will. I only ask that you spare Mark any scandal. For my sake, Archerd, please.”

Archerd turned away. “As you wish, Your Grace. I only came to share the joyous news of your baby brother.”

“Yes, thank you, Archerd.” Derian felt a strange tingling, an excitement bubbling up inside him. In spite of one of his trusted attendants catching him in bed with Mark, he felt hopeful for the first time in a long time.

“A boy…,” Derian murmured thoughtfully. “So there is another heir to Cordesia…or, at least, by the old laws.”

Archerd kept his gaze averted. “Yes, Your Grace. His Majesty is overjoyed.”

“Archerd. Look at me. Please.”

The man slowly turned his amber eyes to Derian.

Derian smiled tentatively. “I am the same man you have always known. Please do not let what you have seen change things between you and I. As I told you, Mark is a good and noble man.” Then Derian smiled wider. “And the birth of my step-brother is truly my salvation.”

“What do you mean?” Archerd looked perplexed.

Derian’s heart began to race with a flood of thoughts, solutions, and possibilities. “Send my congratulations to my step-mother, won’t you?” He ran to his clothes press to search for an undershirt and breeches.

“Your Grace, what are you doing?”

Derian stepped behind a screen, flung off his robe, and got dressed. He needed to find Mark first, and then he would need to seek out his father and meet with him alone. He smiled again as plans began to take shape. His smile faltered a little when he realized how hurt Princess Matilde would be.

But he was free now.

He could be with Mark.

Yes. That was all that mattered!

After he finished getting dressed he tossed his robe into Archerd’s arms. “Thank you, Archerd for bringing this good news so quickly. And for your discretion.” He strode towards the door. “I shall return later.”

* * *

Mark was not in his room.

Derian looked. The next place he went was Lysley’s rooms, but Mark was not there either. Derian went out into the gardens and walked through each and every one, making sure to check every bench or seat to see if Mark was there hiding. When he heard footsteps behind him, he turned with relief only to see his sister, Navelle, coming towards him.

“Looking for someone, brother?” She asked with her sly grin.

Derian frowned. “Yes. And certainly not you.”

Her grin faded, and she looked at him pityingly. “Oh. I see you have found out.”

Derian looked around distractedly, putting his hands on his hips. “Yes. Just about an hour ago.”

Navelle stepped towards him. “Please do not be angry with him. He did not mean to deceive you.”

Derian’s eyes narrowed as he stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

Navelle’s cheeks colored, and she took a step back. “Oh. I - I thought…I don’t know. Why are you in a foul mood?”

“I am in a foul mood because I cannot find Mark, and I must speak with him.” Derian moved closer to his sister, peering at her curiously. “What do you mean he did not mean to deceive me? Are you talking about Mark?”

Navelle huffed and crossed her arms. “He promised me!” She shook her head.

“Promised you what? Mark was going to tell me something, but then I received the news of the birth of our step-brother.”

Navelle looked at him pityingly. “Oh, Derian. I’d rather him tell you, because I know you won’t believe me. But I will relay it to you, nonetheless: Matilde has been having an affair. Mark saw her when he went to Rosebourgh. I saw her, too. I followed him.”

Derian blinked. “What?”

“Matilde has been having an affair with Master Halling, the head musician. It appears that it has been going on for quite some time. Mark was afraid to tell you, but I told him—”

“Why was Mark in Rosebourgh?”

Navelle sighed, her shoulders sagging. “That is not for me to divulge. But Mark only lied to you to protect you.”

Derian did not know what to do. He did not know what to say. Indeed, for several moments he was speechless. He was in disbelief that Mark would lie to him, and even more so that Matilde had been having an affair - and Navelle knew about all of it!

Derian shook his head. “I must find Mark and hear it from him. And then I must speak with father.”

“About what?”

He rolled his eyes at her nosiness. “It is none of your business.”

Navelle pursed her lips and cast her gaze downward. “Very well, brother. If I seek out Mark for you, will it give you time to seek out father?”

Derian looked at her in surprise. “Why, yes. It would.” His tone was gentle. “Thank you.”

She waved her dainty hand. “Go on, then.”

And Derian left the gardens to find the King.

* * *

Like Derian expected, his father was celebrating the birth of a son with his advisers. Only Theomund had the nerve to wear a sour face.

As Derian approached, his father held out his arms as if he might hug him, his face lit up with joy. “Oh, it is my eldest son! What a relief to say, right my boy? Come celebrate the news of your baby brother!”

“Yes, father,” Derian agreed. “It is a relief and cause for celebration.” He paused, looking around at his father’s advisers, particularly Theomund who made no effort to hide his irritation. “Might I speak with you, father? Alone?”

King Lucius was in too good of a mood to turn Derian down and he agreed. Derian led his father into his father’s study and closed the door.

The King sat heavily in a chair and raised his goblet of wine. “To another boy!” He laughed. “Did you see the look on Theomund’s face?” He laughed again. “He thinks I do not notice, but surely he is put in his place now, eh, son? Two boys - think of it! With your marriage and another boy in the nursery, that blasted Sayne will have no choice but to bow to me! Ha! To think he thought to defy me - never again!”

Derian could not help but be happy to see his father like this: nearly intoxicated with joy and wine. It had been too long since Derian had seen his father behave this merry and it be genuine. He put on a merry show for King Bowdyn, but it was all for diplomatic purposes. Derian hoped the good mood would help his father accept what he had to say.

“Father,” Derian began. “It is most wonderful to have a new step-brother. It is the greatest news. I trust that my step-mother is doing well?”

The King finished a sip of wine. “As well as can be. I have given her the best of care as she recovers.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Derian cleared his throat. “Father, I must confess something to you.”

King Lucius put down his goblet and turned to his son.

Derian took a deep breath and said the words he’d kept inside for too long. “I do not want to be King. I do not wish to rule Cordesia when you have left us.”

For a few moments, the King merely stared at Derian, completely dumbfounded. Then he slowly shook his head. “If you intend to jest with me, son…”

“No. No, father, it is no jest. I speak the truth.” He paused. “Don’t you think, with the birth of this new life, there should be something to commemorate it? Certainly more than just celebrations. But a change to our traditions.”

The King’s eyes narrowed. “What on earth are you talking about? And you _will_ be King after me. It is not for you to decide.”

“That’s right, father. It is not for me to decide - it is for _you_ to decide. And you should decide to change who will reign after you. It is unfair that my two elder sisters must be skipped over as heirs to the throne. It is also unfair that they must wait until I marry before they can marry. Tell me, father, that you do not believe this is harmful. I would not believe it. Both of my sisters are just as capable as any man.”

King Lucius set his goblet down with a thunk. “What has gotten into you, Derian? You speak of women ruling like Kings and of giving up your birthright? Have you gone mad?”

Derian had indeed gone mad - madly in love. But he would not speak of that to his father. Not now. First things first.

“Father, please. Think of it: Naeveen could rule after you. She is your eldest child. It matters not that she is a young lady. Remember how even Theomund praised her for her regency when we traveled to Rosebourgh? So many complimented her leadership. And Naeveen is noble and fair, the most capable match of any King anywhere.”

The King was still frowning, but his eyes darted around the room in thought. “Your sister cannot rule, Derian. It is unheard of, and she is bound to be married to Prince Ceawlin. As soon as I am gone, Ceawlin becomes King of Cordesia, giving Devonia complete control. No.” He obstinately shook his head. “It is no good. A daughter cannot inherit.”

“But father the laws and traditions that say a daughter’s husband takes the throne in her place is within your power to change. Naeveen can rule within her own right, her husband simply a consort. Much like my step-mother.”

King Lucius laughed. “No man would stand for that! A mere consort? Bah! Ceawlin and any Prince who thought well of himself would be heading for better pastures.”

“But see there, father - you assume all Princes want to rule. And what if they do not? What if Ceawlin is like me and merely wants a quiet life in the country, away from court?”

“Is that what you really want, Derian?” The King’s voice was soft as he eyed his son. “I can hardly believe that you would want to live among the country people rather than be the most powerful man in the kingdom.”

“I don’t wish for power.” Derian sighed. “I wished to be an astronomer when I was a boy. I wished to travel the world and read all the books I could find. I wished for lots of things, and none of those wishes were to rule Cordesia.” Derian paused again and fiddled with the cuff of his undershirt. “Naeveen, however, has dreamed of being a great Queen. She told me so once. And the pragmatic way she conducted both our duties during our absence is proof that she was born to rule. Not I. Please father, can’t you see? Naeveen will be a great Queen. One the people will love. And if you believe Ceawlin or any man she might marry would steal the throne from her, then rewrite the laws. Make it so a man who marries a Cordesian Queen is simply a figurehead, a consort. I think you’ll find there will be many Princes vying for her hand, regardless.”

There was silence between them for a time. Derian dared not try to fill it. He wanted his father to consider his words, and he was willing to give his father as much time as possible to think upon them.

After a few minutes, King Lucius finally spoke. “Why did you not say something before?” His voice was soft and thoughtful. “Before your Presenting, even? All these years…I thought you’d be proud to follow your father’s footsteps.”

“I did not want to disappoint you. I believed it was my birthright, my destiny, the only way. But now I know that it is not. And now you have another son.”

“An _infant_ son,” the King corrected. “But yes…another boy…,” he trailed off for a few moments. “Your sister, Naeveen, do you think she would have rode off to Lawter and Sayne as bravely as you?”

“Braver, father. Neither man would dare lay a hand upon a fair Princess. No matter who’s daughter she may be. She is very much aware of this. It would have emboldened her.”

The King settled back in his chair, making it creak. “What would you do, son, where would you go, if you were not here?”

“I’d like to retire to the country, with my old household, and perhaps I will study the stars.” He’d like to study a bit of music, too, with Mark as his permanent instructor, but he decided not to speak that thought out loud.

The King stared at him for a long while before he spoke again. “It is a strange thing to be a father and a king. I feel as if my kingdom and my own children are one in the same at times. I always longed for a son to reign after me. But your sisters are capable young women. Naeveen,” he laughed softly, staring off as if lost in a memory, “she was my pride when she was born. Certainly, I was disappointed that she was not the boy your mother and I wanted. But Naeveen put other little girls to shame with her boldness and her intelligence. All her tutors told me of how quickly she learned. Your mother said, ‘isn’t it a pity she cannot rule in her own right?’ and even then I wondered why it was so. My own father had said such. And his father before him.” He paused a few moments, picking up his goblet. “But today I celebrate a new life. One that I may not live long enough to see grow like you and your sisters. And you and your sisters have grown into such fine young people.” He paused again. “Queen Naeveen….my heir…”

Derian felt a mix of relief and anticipation as his father considered it. It was only right that Naeveen should rule. It would also raise Navelle’s place considerably. Enough for their father to consider marrying her to a Prince or a Duke. She may never be Queen, but her life would be far more comfortable and secure than it was now.

“Let us say,” King Lucius said at last. “That I let you retire to the countryside and name your sister as my heir. Will you stay for the remainder of the year? It must be put into law and my advisers must be notified of the new arrangements. There will be grumblings and questions. Disagreements. I’ll need your help.”

Derian’s heart beat wildly. He thought he might float away into the Heavens from the weight that had been lifted off him.

“Yes, father. I can manage that.”

“Very well.” King Lucius eyed him for a few seconds, then his expression became slightly alarmed. “What of Matilde? Oh, what shall I tell that blasted fool, Bowdyn?”

Derian smiled. “Don’t worry, father. I’ll see to that. It may be easier than you think.” He turned to go. “Thank you, father, for listening to me.”

King Lucius nodded sternly, then a glimmer of humor came to his eyes. “We should talk, informally like this, more often, shouldn’t we?”

“We should,” Derian agreed. He strode towards the door. “I will see you later, father.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find someone.”

* * *

Derian was ready to turn the Palace inside out.

He did not think he would be able to stand it. He _must_ find Mark - but where had he gone? Derian was storming down the hall towards Mark’s room to look for him once more, when Navelle appeared around the corner.

Derian ran over to her. “Oh sister, tell me you have seen him. Where could he have gone!”

Navelle looked worried. “I have spoken with the stable master. He says Mark came to take a horse only a few hours ago. I asked the stable master if Mark said anything, but he did not. I am certain that he has ridden away, but where would he have gone?”

“I know where he’d go,” Derian replied. “I will get my horse from the stables. Go and be with our step-mother. I will visit her when I return.”

“Return from where?”

“From the high road to Robishaw.”

* * *

Derian did not know how far ahead Mark would be, so he rode at a quick pace.

Archerd would be furious to know that he was riding off alone with none of his attendants and no protection. But Derian did not care. He must catch up to Mark.

After a few miles, Derian spotted a young man ahead of him riding up to an inn. Derian prompted his horse into a gallop and called out. The head that turned had careless umber hair and sharp jade eyes. Derian wanted to laugh in relief.

“Mark!” He called. “Stop! Please!” As Derian rode up to him, he noticed the somber expression on Mark’s face. “I must speak with you!”

Mark averted his gaze. “It is just as well, Highness. I know that we are caught and your manservant has told your father. I am sorry that I have caused such anguish for you. I never meant—”

“No, Mark. We are _not_ caught.” Derian reigned in his horse beside Mark. “Listen. I have spoken with my father. The birth of a boy has been my salvation. And perhaps the answer to my sister’s prayers.”

Mark shook his head. “Derian it is no use. For there is much worse I have done to you. I have lied to you—”

“I care not for the lie,” Derian interjected quickly. “She did not tell me everything, but let us just say that you have a friend at the Palace. One who relayed to me what she saw at the Rosebourgh Palace, and what you saw.”

Mark’s cheeks turned red. “I am sorry I deceived you. I believed you were to be married and it was best I left court.”

“But Mark I am not to be married.” Derian smiled.

Mark’s expression was hopeful, but pensive. “Whatever do you mean, Highness?”

Derian explained it all to him, telling Mark about the conversation with his father. As he said it out loud, said the words, the freedom he’d been granted made him feel as if he’d sprung wings and escaped his gilded cage. He could fly anywhere, be anywhere, and wherever it was, it would always be with Mark.

“I must stay the year out, to help my father with the transition,” Derian said. “But then I will retire to the country - with you.”

The waning daylight caught Mark’s jade eyes just so, making them almost glow.

“If you want to, that is,” Derian added. “I want you with me, for the rest of my days, we will retire to my country home together.”

A soft smile crossed Mark’s lips and then he was skeptical. “What will your father think, having me in your home with you?”

“That you are a part of my household, and I am simply practicing my lute! And I will buy you all the lutes Mark, anything you wish, anything you ask for, it is yours. Oh, Mark.” He drew the horse closer so that he was within arm’s reach. “Please say you will come with me. Please say I can spend the rest of my days with you.”

“But, Highness—”

“No more Highness, no more Prince. I am Derian. _Your_ Derian. Forever and always, Mark, if you will have me.”

Mark gazed at him longingly. “Derian, oh, Derian. Yes. Yes, I want to have you. Forever and always, my love.”

He reached out for Derian and Derian reached back, leaning forward to join their lips in a kiss. A soft breeze came in from the south, tousling their hair, the warm sun upon Derian’s skin as he kissed his one true love, the one he would love for all time.

The Prince of Cordesia’s wishes had come true, and he would love his lute player with an everlasting love, caring and devoted only to him forevermore.

* * *

Epilogue

The air was fresh with sea salt and warm sunshine.

Derian walked among the rocks on the sandy shores of the Moviene Islands, moving closer and closer to the sound of plucking strings and a clear, sweet voice. Derian smiled as he caught sight of his love, composing verse by the sea.

Mark had his bare back turned to him, as he held his lute and sang a few verses of the newest song he’d composed. Derian quietly approached, silently sitting on the rock beside his love, not wanting to disturb him. Mark’s eyes were closed as he sang a song about forever love, guiding stars, and his lover’s kiss. And Derian’s smile grew wider because he knew who the song was about.

As the last note of the song faded away, Derian closed his eyes to absorb the moment. There had been many moments like this. They’d come to the Moviene Islands months ago because Derian wanted to see where Mark’s people came from. But they’d ended up staying. Derian and Mark had found a house in a village by the seashore. Derian was not sure if he ever wanted to return to Cordesia. He’d written his sisters so they knew that he was safe.

“You look so peaceful,” Mark commented.

Derian opened his eyes and looked at Mark. “Because I am here. With you. One of the most beautiful places on this earth, and I get to share it with you and your music.” He leaned over to give Mark a kiss.

Mark kissed him in return, then pulled away, his jade eyes so dreamy. “Shall we return in the evening? You said you’d like to observe the stars in the eastern sky.”

“Yes,” replied Derian, looking to the east. He wanted to observe his mother’s star.

The telescope was special built by one of the astronomers at King Fabian’s court. Derian could not wait to use it that evening. He hoped he’d get a better view of his mother’s star.

“Perhaps,” Mark began, “when we return to the mainland, we should go to Robishaw.”

Mark had written to his family when they’d first left the Cordesian Palace. At the first of the year, they’d ridden to Derian’s old household in the country. The new little Prince would have his own household as well, but Derian took Mark to the manor and they made it a home.

The people seemed disappointed there would be no grand wedding, but there began whisperings and rumors of Matilde’s reputation. Then rumors began to circulate between Cordesia and Rosebourgh that Matilde had run off with Master Halling. No one knew where they had gone, and King Bowdyn was furious. He’d sent his Guard after them, threatening to arrest Halling, but thus far the couple were long gone.

And anyway, Naeveen’s wedding to Ceawlin would soon distract them all. There had been a delay as the King of Devonia debated on whether he wanted his only son to serve as consort. But it turned out that Ceawlin truly loved Naeveen and wanted to support his future bride no matter what. And so the marriage would go forth as planned. Derian knew he must attend, and he intended to bring Mark as his guest.

In a way, Derian was relieved. It all meant that things were working out. Naeveen would be Queen, and Matilde had not wanted to marry him either. Derian hoped that she was happy wherever she was.

“I’ll need to send my mother more money,” Mark continued. “But it would be nice to see her and hand it to her myself.”

“And see that Nevill is well,” Derian added.

From the letters Mark received, it seemed that the little boy was thriving. Derian’s physician continued to visit the boy even though he was no under obligation to do so. He was a good man, and Derian was glad that Nevill continued to get care. And Derian had always wanted to meet Mark’s family, only it was difficult to make the time. They’d wanted to spend every waking hour with each other since leaving the Cordesian Palace.

Derian slipped an arm around Mark as he gazed at the crashing waves. “Oh, my love. I believe this is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Mark leaned over and nuzzled into Derian’s cheek. “But my sweet Prince, I thought that last night was the happiest you’d ever been.”

Derian laughed. “Can’t there be more than one happy moment?”

“Yes, but there can only be one that reigns supreme.”

“All right.” Derian’s arm tightened around his love. “Then this shall be the moment.”

“I love you so much, Derian.”

“And I love you, Mark. So very much.”

Derian kissed Mark, his lute player and his true love, as the ocean waves rolled onto the sand and the sun shone down. His perfect moment, the happiest he’d ever been, and he knew there was more moments like this to come. He hoped for it, he could not wait for it, his life was his own at last - and he could share it forever with the lute player.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone so much for your encouragement and for reading! Please have a safe, healthy, and happy 2021! I'm sure you'll be seeing more from me in the near future! xoxoxoxo


End file.
